


Groundwork

by thelastphoenixever



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Mystery, Neal Caffrey Needs a Hug, Peter Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastphoenixever/pseuds/thelastphoenixever
Summary: After re-establishing trust and creating new rules for their partnership, Peter and Neal will find themselves far and away from everything they care for. But to what purpose?  AU divergence from the end of S5. S6 never happens.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke & Mozzie (White Collar), Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey & Mozzie, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 15
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue

_Late._

Peter Burke looked down at his plain watch one more time just to make sure he wasn't misreading the dial in the dark. 

_He's never been late._

He ran a hand through his dark brown hair before letting it fall back to his side. A deep inhale, then a slow, shuddering exhale followed, his breath turning to frigid vapor. 

His back rested against the concrete wall underneath the Cleft Ridge Arch in the middle of the park in Brooklyn. 2AM and still a no show. He should have been there at midnight on the dot and not a moment later. 

He couldn't imagine what the excuse could be. There had never been one before. 

He watched as the late night snow fell softly outside the cover the arch provided to him. Sighing in agitation, he scraped the sole of his shoe against the ground. 

_Was I followed?_

Peter walked to the edge of the tunnel and glanced around, then walked to the other end and did the same. 

The snow covered path was silent. Abandoned on both ends, not a footprint in sight. The ones he had made to get in position had long been concealed by new powder. 

_No one smart enough to follow me would leave prints there, anyway._

He shook his head in an attempt to dismiss the "followed" theory. He'd done this too many times and the place was always different. The time was always different. The time of **_year_ ** was always different. 

But he couldn't bring himself to believe it wasn't possible that he was followed. That just wasn't how the world worked.

He flexed his toes inside his shoes as he tried to restore feeling in them. He knew his city coat and gloves had lost their effectiveness at least an hour ago and the midnight cup of hot coffee he had brought was long gone. He couldn't wait much longer. 

"Hey!" 

Peter whipped his head towards the left and was blinded by a bright light that was marching toward him, bobbing up and down. 

"What're you doin' out here, park's closed," the man said. It was an implied threat more than a statement or a question. 

Peter turned to face the light and widened his stance with his hands out of his pockets. The light finally closed enough distance for him to see exactly what he had suspected it was: a city cop. 

The dark haired man was a bit taller than he was and was completely decked out in his winter police uniform. He adjusted his hat further up on his forehead. 

"I said, what are you doin' out here," the cop restated. "Park's closed."

Peter wasn't one to be barked at, especially not at 2AM on what was shaping up to be a very ominous night. 

"FBI," he snapped back. "My badge is in my front inside pocket. May I get it?" 

"FBI, huh?" the cop said skeptically, looking him up and down. "Well… you sure don't look like a junkie or a mobster, so maybe... Alright, get it, but slow."

Peter reached carefully inside his jacket pocket and produced his FBI shield. He thrust it toward the officer for him to examine. 

"Alright, Agent Burke," said the officer, satisfied with the identification. "So I'm not gonna arrest you, but I still gotta know what you're doin' here."

"Working a case," Peter responded. "You know how these criminal types are. A source told me about a meeting that was supposed to take place here a few hours ago. Nobody showed on time, so I was waiting to see if someone straggles in late." 

"Meh, damn informants, you can't trust 'em for shit," the officer said, placing his hand on his hips. "You need any assistance here? I could hang out and help keep an eye."

Peter shook his head. 

"If they were gonna show, they would have done it already," he said. "I had just decided to leave right as you were coming under the arch. I appreciate the concern, though." 

Peter held his hand out to offer a handshake, which was heartily accepted. 

"Need a ride or you got a car close?" the officer asked. "I can give you a lift."

"I'm parked not too far," Peter replied,then chuckled. "Gotta get home to my wife, I was supposed to be home at 6 o'clock. You know how that is."

"Better get stepping, man, you're late!" the officer said, waving him on as he walked back towards the southern end of the tunnel. 

Peter walked out into the snowfall on the other end. The fresh white powder on the path remained unspoiled. After walking several yards, he turned to look back towards the tunnel again when the wind accosted him from out of the north. 

_I'm not the only one._


	2. The Secret

At eight thirty Friday, Neal bounced happily off the elevator and into the FBI’s White Collar division office carrying two lidded paper espresso cups in a cardboard carrier. He was as well dressed as he had ever been in a black suit, white shirt, and dark blue-black striped tie. A black fedora sat perched on his head and would have drawn every female eye in the room had there been any there. 

But, the office was sparsely populated with only a few junior male agents nodding at him as he entered. Diana and Jones were notably absent; they had been on a stakeout the night before on the upper east side and probably wouldn’t be in until later. 

He strode through the office past his old desk and up into his office at the top of the stairs. He opened the door, plucked his fedora off of his head, and tossed it onto his desk. 

It had been months since they had put Rachel in prison and the FBI Director had snubbed Peter’s request that he be given his freedom. After being told that he had been **_too_ ** good at his job on Peter’s front stoop, he had almost run. His flight instinct had kicked in hard and the only thing that had stopped him was Peter’s firm hand gripping his arm as he tried to make his way down the sidewalk.

“I’m not going to DC.”

It was enough of a shock that it stopped him in his tracks. At the thought of the FBI screwing him over for being too good, he had been furious. Furious enough to go see Mozzie and take him up on his offer to disappear. 

But there was Peter again, throwing water on his fire. Getting his own office hadn’t been the only thing to turn Neal’s flames to embers, but it hadn’t hurt.

He backed out and went to Peter’s office door to the left. He opened it and slipped inside quietly. He gracefully placed his partner’s espresso on his desk. 

"Good morning, Peter," Neal said, taking a sip of his own drink.

His smile faded a bit as he noticed Peter staring blankly out of his office window into the gray New York City sky. The dark gray suit he wore was a tad wrinkled, almost as if he had slept in it. He waited a moment for Peter to notice him, then stepped forward to touch his shoulder.

"Peter?" 

Peter startled slightly and turned around. He hadn't registered that his office door had even opened, much less that anyone had spoken to him. He looked from Neal to the paper cup of hot espresso on his desk, realized what had happened, and picked it up. 

"Thanks, Neal," he said, taking a long sip.

"No problem," Neal responded, grinning. "I take a lot of pride in having ruined office coffee for you."

It felt like the beginning again, back when Italian roast and prison jokes ruled the day. He had missed it sorely as things had steadily declined between them after the U-boat treasure ordeal. By the time Rachel had shown up, he’d lost almost all hope of ever having that again. 

Peter not leaving for DC had changed everything.

"Close a big enough case and we might be able to talk them into letting us have better coffee in here," Peter mused, returning to the window. He took a deep breath, then exhaled it all through his nose. 

Neal tilted his head slightly. 

"Something wrong?" 

"No, I…" he said, then let his next attempt at speaking turn into a shuddering yawn. He tried again, dragging his hand up over his face. "I'm just tired today."

Neal reached out and took the espresso cup from him. 

"Then you should go home and get some sleep," he decided. "Not drink tasty jet fuel."

Peter reached out to grab his drink back, but Neal pulled it away. 

"Hey, for once, **_I_ ** should get to tell **_you_ ** what to do," he said. "If I'd known you were gonna look like the walking dead when I got here, I would have brought you a fancy pillow and a blanket."

"Thanks," Peter said. He pointed at his drink in Neal's hand. "But I have a meeting in about an hour, and I have to be alert, so give me that back."

Neal reluctantly handed Peter his espresso back, eyeing him. 

"What's the meeting about?" 

"I don’t know," Peter replied. 

“You don’t look too happy about it.”

“I’m not, I’m tired,” Peter said, sitting down in his chair. “And I don’t like not knowing what I’m walking into.”

“Why are you so tired?”

“Neal…”

“ **_Peter_ **.”

The older man leaned forward and put his palms over his eyes. He sighed.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind the past week,” he said, sitting back up. He placed his hands on the desk. 

“Me?”

“No, nothing to do with you,” Peter said, shaking his head. “You’ve actually... done great this week.” He pointed at his partner. “I appreciate that.”

Neal beamed a smile, but it quickly faded out as he realized his handler and friend had just done something rare. He had not only thanked him but openly complimented him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like both things, but they were somewhat out of character for Peter, especially done back to back for no apparent reason. Time for a test.

“You know, I **_did_ ** disobey you this week. I didn’t stay in the car Tuesday; I checked on the back of the building while you were in the storefront,” Neal said, sipping his espresso, never taking his eyes off his test subject. 

Peter sighed.

“And I know nothing happened,” Peter said, picking up his pen and twirling it in his fingers. “I’m too tired to care right now, Neal. Just don’t do it again.” He shut his eyes and yawned hard. 

Neal raised an eyebrow. Normally, an admission like that would have elicited a fiery tirade about insubordination, disobedience, his radius, and how good he looks in orange, not necessarily in that order. 

“Okay, when you get out of your meeting, you’re going to go get some sleep,” Neal said. “You’re not allowed to be too tired to chew my ass out.”

“Depending on what happens with that meeting, fine,” Peter said. “I’m not in the mood to argue today.”

Neal tilted his head again in alarm. Submission? 

There was a time at the beginning of his work release agreement that he would have taken this opportunity to ask Peter for some frivolity. Increasing his radius so he could go to an art show or a museum, maybe a new restaurant. Something that gave him a renewed sense of freedom in spite of the little black box that blighted his left ankle. 

But today, years later, it didn't even cross his mind. 

Instead, he took two quick steps back and shut the office door. There was no sense in letting this charade go on any longer. 

“How 'bout you talk to me about what’s going on **_or_ ** we can argue whether you’re tired or not?” 

“Not about this,” Peter said sharply, suddenly looking out into the bullpen. He glanced at the landline phone for a split second, then cut his eyes up at his partner. “Not right now, not yet. And I don’t know when, so don’t ask.”

Neal hesitated, then nodded slowly at Peter's abrupt shift in tone. 

"Okay…"

He immediately started tossing the possibilities around in his head as he chose his next words with care. 

Peter was being cautious about what he said inside his closed office and about whether anyone **_else_ ** in the division office was watching him. Concerned about being watched, but also concerned about his office phone being bugged. 

He then realized Peter’s guard around his mood and thoughts had been lowered for him only. He hadn’t displayed any type of weakness in front of anyone else the past week. 

Just him. 

Just today. 

Just now.

“All right, Peter,” Neal conceded. “You’re allowed a secret from me… as long as it doesn’t have anything to **_do_ ** with me… and as long as you’re not in **_danger_ **.” 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Peter said quietly. 

Neal instantly sat his espresso down on the seat of the chair, planted his palms flat on Peter’s desk, and leaned forward, almost over him. He lowered his head and his voice.

“If you’re in trouble, you **_have_ ** to tell me. This isn’t negotiable,” he demanded, shaking his head as he said the last bit. 

“If I am, I’ll tell you,” Peter replied, opening a case file on his desk and fidgeting with the pen between his fingers. He avoided the heavy accusatory stare.

“Now I know why you hate it when I play word games with you,” Neal huffed, standing back up. He didn’t want to be aggravated with Peter over this, but he was. After all the preaching Peter had done at him about trust and secrets, here he was with one of his own. The worst thing was that he was actually being **_open_ ** about the fact that he had a secret. Which he guessed was better than Peter trying to hide it. 

_Maybe he’s trusting me to not press him on this…?_

_… ok. I can play that game._

He picked his espresso back up off the chair and put his hand on the doorknob. He turned back to face his friend. 

“I’m serious about you getting some sleep after that meeting,” he said. “You’re not acting right. I won’t push you on whatever this is, but you have to sleep. That’s my offer right now.”

“Deal.”

###

Elizabeth was packing her suitcase in the master bedroom when her cell phone rang. She didn’t expect a call from Peter today; they had already said their goodbyes his morning before he left for work. 

She hesitated to answer. She wasn’t running late yet, but she would run the risk of missing the plane if she delayed much longer. 

She picked up the phone and smiled at the name. He didn’t call her often, but when he did, something was up. 

“Hi, Neal,” she said sweetly, cradling the phone between her head and her shoulder as she placed socks into her bag. 

“Hi, Elizabeth,” came Neal’s voice. “Listen, Peter mentioned you were going out of town for the weekend to visit your parents in Illinois. He’s gonna come and stay with me while you’re gone, is that okay?”

“Sure,” she said, then hesitated. “But, didn’t you end up getting him a high-end hotel room instead last time? I mean, your lifestyles do clash a little bit.”

“I think we’ll be fine this time around,” he replied. “We’ll even bring Satch over.”

“That’s great; I didn’t want to have to take him on the plane,” Elizabeth said. Was Neal up to something? She shook her head. If he was, Peter would deal with it. 

“Did you really just call for permission to kidnap my husband for the weekend?”

Neal laughed.

“No, actually, I was wondering if you’d grab some clothes for him so we can stop and pick them up after the meeting he’s in is over. If you pack his bag for him, he’s significantly easier to kidnap,” he said. 

“I’ll have to speed up a bit so I’m not late, but I don’t mind,” Elizabeth said. “I feel better when you two are together if I’m gone, anyway.”

“Why’s that?”

“Neal, have you ever met any of Peter’s other friends outside of work?”

“No, I haven’t,” Neal responded.

“That’s because he doesn’t have any."

There was silence on the phone, but Elizabeth broke it again.

“I’m glad you’re willing to have him over for the weekend. He’s a little stuck in his ways, and he can require some patience, but…”

“I'm not the easiest to get along with, either, you know,” Neal replied, then redirected the conversation. “Peter seemed overly tired today. Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine, just short on sleep,” Elizabeth said. “He said he’d been working late on that investment scam case with you after hours this week or he’d be going with me to my parents'. He’s really hit it hard. He didn’t get home until after two last night and was right back out the door at seven this morning.”

Sitting alone in the chair behind Peter’s desk, Neal narrowed his eyes. Investment scam?

There was no investment scam.

_If he’s lying to Elizabeth…_

“Thanks, he’s been good most of the week; I guess he’s just wearing his heart on his sleeve today, at least when it’s just me around,” Neal chuckled half-heartedly. “We’ll drop by and pick up his bag and Satch later. Thanks.”

“All right, bye, Neal.”

“Bye, Elizabeth.”

Neal hit “end” on his phone and immediately brought back up the contacts screen. He hit the number for “Haversham” and watched the bullpen through the glass as the phone rang three times. He hung up.

Peter had been gone an hour at least. 

He dialed the same number a second time.

One ring, then he hung up again. 

His phone rang in his hand a moment later.

“Moz?”

“Indeed.”

“Hey, I need to cancel plans for this weekend,” Neal said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hate to do it, but… something came up.”

“The suit?”

“Something like that,” Neal admitted. He sighed. “Something’s **_wrong_ **.”

“With the case?”

“With Peter.”

“Oh, I could’ve told you that, he’s a fe--”

“Knock it off, Moz, I’m serious,” Neal snapped, bouncing his rubber band ball off the floor and snatching it out of the air. He leaned back in Peter’s leather chair. “He’s exhausted today, he’s not arguing with me, he’s not even joking about putting me back in prison yet… as if that’s something I’m supposed to miss… his body language, tone of voice, everything’s different today. He’s in a meeting right now; he said before he went in that he didn’t know what it was about, he **_swears_ ** it has nothing to do with me...”

“So the suit’s hiding something from you, what else is new?”

“I questioned him about it, and he got… nervous,” Neal said. “Visibly nervous, inside his office, Moz. He was looking around in here like it might be bugged or something. Peter doesn't get 'nervous' about being bugged. The last time that happened was with Fowler, and he was pissed . Not nervous, Moz. **_Pissed_ **."

"If the suit thinks his office might be bugged, why are you talking to me from there?" 

"Because I looked through everything here as soon as he left for his meeting," Neal said. "If there was something in here, I would have found it."

"Junior Suit and Lady Suit don't mind you rummaging through his office?" 

"They're out in the field, and there's no one else here besides a few younger agents and interns," Neal replied. "And they know Peter left me in here. I'm a CI, not an agent, and they know that, but they also know that I have a certain amount of rank here in an unsaid way. Me having the other private office now helps. They don't question me."

"Maybe you should stay in the FBI after all," his friend mused over the phone. 

"Moz--" 

“Yeah, yeah, I know," Mozzie said. "At any rate, maybe his issue **_doesn’t_ ** have anything to do with you.”

“It doesn’t matter whether it does or not , Moz,” Neal replied. “I told him he could have his secret as long as it had nothing to do with me, and as long as he wasn’t in danger.”

“And what did he say?”

Neal paused a moment.

“It was what he wouldn’t say.”

“So it has nothing to do with you … but he wouldn’t say he **_wasn’t_ ** in danger. That's what's got you all perturbed.”

“Pretty much,” he replied. “Look, whatever it is, he’s lying to Elizabeth, too. I talked to her a few minutes ago. She thinks he’s been on some investment scam case this week, and that’s why he’s been tired and getting home late. He didn't get home until after two o’clock.”

“There is no investment scam, is there?”

“No, there’s not.”

“Hmm, then I share your suspicions,” Mozzie admitted. His voice perked up. “You have my interest. What are you going to do?”

“Elizabeth’s out of town for at least the weekend; I’m gonna get Peter to come stay with me,” Neal said. “I’m gonna keep an eye on him and see if I can figure out what’s up without pressing him about it. We’ve gotten along really well this week; I don’t want to fuck it up by pressing a sore spot unless I'm forced to.”

“For him to lie to Elizabeth, it’s got to be something serious,” Mozzie mused on the other end of the line. “You want me to dig?”

“No, not yet,” Neal said. “I just needed you to know he’ll be at my place tonight and probably tomorrow night, too.”

“Let me guess… you haven’t told him that.”

“Nope, I put it all together while he was in the meeting, and El will be gone by the time we get to his place to pick up his bag that she packed for him to come over,” Neal said, grinning as he rolled the ball around in his hand. 

“You’re going to con him into thinking it was Elizabeth’s idea?”

“I don’t think I’ll have to,” Neal replied. “He was pretty pliable earlier, and you know Peter usually has the pliability of a torque wrench.”

“I’ll occupy myself with other means, then,” Mozzie said. “I’ll keep this phone the rest of the weekend. I’ll give you a new number Monday.”

“Thanks, Moz,” Neal said. 

“Nothing to it, _mon frère_. Ciao.”

Neal hung up the phone and resumed bouncing his rubber band ball on the floor as he kept an eye on the barely populated bullpen below. It was getting close to eleven thirty, and he now knew Peter didn’t eat breakfast this morning. He had also stayed at the office the night prior instead of going home on time. Neal had left him there alone and gone home. Did he not eat last night, either?

Neal shook his head. Of course not. 

Red flags everywhere.

Motion at the elevators caught his attention. Peter stepped out of the first elevator on the left at his usual pace, turned, and opened the glass partition door. He walked through the bullpen with purpose but hesitated ever so slightly when he got to the stairs. He climbed them less energetically, stepped into his office, and shut the door behind him. 

Neal watched as Peter took a deep breath in and out through his nose. He still hadn’t removed his hand from the doorknob behind him when Neal got out of his chair and gestured for him to sit. 

Peter sat down in his chair, leaned forward, and turned his head to look out the window as he had earlier. His hands were clasped together in his lap. 

"You shouldn't be here like this," Neal said carefully. 

"I'm fine out there," Peter said, looking up at him, then nodding toward the bullpen. "I can wear a mask just as well as you can, but I’m choosing not to wear it **_here_ **."

Neal raised an eyebrow. 

"Thank you for not even trying that with me right now."

"There's no point in it," Peter sighed, looking at the floor. "You can read me almost as well as I can catch you."

"What you're about to go catch are some z's," Neal said, pointing at him. "Let's go."

"I'll drop you off at home," Peter said, getting to his feet. 

"Nope," Neal said, grinning. "I talked to Elizabeth earlier. She packed you a bag. You and Satch are staying with me this weekend."

"You talked to Elizabeth?" 

"She said she'd be happier if we were together while she's gone."

"We've tried this before," Peter said. "You kicked me out."

"I already told El I wouldn't," Neal said. "It's settled. C'mon."

###

Neal grabbed some of the file folders from the case they were actually working on and carried them down to the car. Peter carried his own short stack under his left arm and his briefcase in his right. 

As they approached the car in the garage, Peter hit the button on his key fob to open the back. 

The standard _thu-thunk_ echoed vaguely in the concrete structure as the trunk lid slowly popped open. Neal raised it up with his free arm and dropped the paperwork into the cargo organizer inside. 

After Peter put his briefcase and stack of folders in, Neal turned to him and gestured toward the keys with the double finger point. 

"Gimme."

"You're not driving," Peter stated flatly, pulling the keys closer to his chest. 

"Your driving scares me when you're awake, and right now, you are not," Neal said, holding his hand out. "I know how to get to your house."

"You don't have a license."

"Nick Halden does, and I'm a good driver," Neal responded. "I'm more fit to be behind that wheel than you are right now. Tell me I'm wrong."

Peter grumbled and thrust the keys toward his partner and dropped them into his outstretched hand. 

"Don't get pulled over," he said as he walked from the trunk to the passenger side. 

“I’ve never been pulled over,” Neal said, holding up the keys. He unlocked the doors with the key fob, and they both got in. He quickly put on his seat belt, started the car, and put it in gear before his handler had a chance to change his mind. 

He wasn’t going to bring up how long it had been since he’d driven anywhere. He was enjoying getting to take the lead for once, but getting to drive Peter’s car was a luxury all by itself. 

Once they were out on the street and on the right path to the house, he glanced over at his partner. 

“How was the meeting?”

“Long and fortunately uneventful,” Peter said. 

“Can you tell--”

“No, I can’t,” Peter replied immediately. He waved his hand around in the air. “The contents of the meeting, who else was in attendance, all sealed.”

“I don’t like this,” Neal said coldly. 

“I don’t like it, either, but it is what it is,” Peter said, looking out the passenger window and resting a crooked index finger across his chin. “I could lie to you instead, but we were trying to not do that anymore.”

“No, we don’t need to start that cycle again,” Neal replied as he made a turn onto Manhattan Bridge. “It hurts us both.”

“Look, I told you after we put Rachel in prison, I wanted things to be different between us and I meant it,” Peter said, still watching scenery fly by them. “I’m trying to keep my word to you without putting us both in jeopardy. I’m being as forthcoming as possible without telling you something I **_can't_ **. Telling you is dangerous. I won't risk it… not yet."

"Is not telling me dangerous?" 

"It might be," Peter said. "But telling you right now certainly is. You need plausible deniability."

" **_I_ ** need plausible deniability? Are you kidding me?" 

"No, I'm not," Peter replied. "I know this is like you're talking to a brick wall right now, but this is how it has to be until I have more definite information on what I'm dealing with. I'm not in trouble yet, but I definitely will be if I start telling you anything early, and you will be, too."

"I know how to lay bricks, so I know how to talk to a wall when I see one," Neal said. He knew how to dig without getting into specifics; he just had to be careful doing it. "Did the meeting concern the **_other_ ** thing that's bothering you?" 

“How did you know there were two things? The meeting was one because I didn’t know what it was for. But the other…”

“Elizabeth said you were working an investment scam with me late every day this week, and you only found out about that meeting this morning,” Neal said, cutting his eyes towards him for a second. Peter froze.

“I covered your story, don’t worry,” Neal said. “I didn’t let her know there was no investment scam."

Peter took a deep breath as if someone had just moved a pile of bricks off his chest.

“So, you’re lying to Elizabeth that anything’s even going on,” Neal said. “But not to me. Why?”

“Because while you may get concerned about me under certain circumstances, you don't **_worry_ ** about me. El worries, and there's no real keeping secrets from her, we're married, she'll pull the wife card if she smells a rat," Peter replied. "I'm not lying to you because you understand that some secrets are necessary, and at this point, you know I keep any I have for good reasons. You’re also the only person that **_might_ ** be able to help me if I need it.”

“Okay... good answer,” Neal replied, forcing himself to ignore the comment about him worrying. Peter didn't need to know the truth about that right now. “Did the meeting have to do with the other thing?”

"Yes and no,” Peter said. “Yes in that it generally had something to do with it, and no in that it wasn’t specific enough at any point to address it. If that makes any sense.”

“So the overall subject came up, but the specific thing didn’t,” Neal guessed.

“The meeting danced around the issue, and I’m not sure if that’s because they didn’t want to address it yet or if they don’t even know that it exists,” Peter replied. “But, we’re not going to play twenty questions on this. There’s no conceivable way that you can guess what this is. I’m probably about to be forced to tell you one way or another, but until it’s forced, I can’t.”

“ I could force you.”

“You’re not the one that could force me,” Peter said. "And we're not in a situation that could force me. It is that serious."

"Are we going to be in that situation any time soon?" 

"Neal…" 

"Peter, I'm trying to respect your boundaries on this, but I at least need to know if I need to prepare for something."

"Do you remember what you told me before we arrested Ghovat?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Prepare all you want. It's all gonna change."


	3. Ghosts

Neal gently parallel parked the car in front of the Burke house, turned it off, and removed the keys from the ignition. The keys jingled as they dropped into Peter’s hand.

After they entered the house, Satchmo was making _tippy-tap_ sounds with his feet as he excitedly bounced around the two men. His tail proceeded to wag at high speed as Neal got down on one knee to pet him. 

“Hey, buddy,” he said, rubbing the dog behind the ears. Satchmo lunged forward and gave him a long lick up the side of his face. Neal hadn’t initially cared for being licked on the face by the friendly dog, but he’d gotten used to it over the years and expected to be assaulted every once in a while. “I like you, too, Satch,” he chuckled, wiping the left side of his face off. 

The dog turned his attention toward Peter and nuzzled his nose up against a thigh. Peter reached down and scratched the top of his head. “Good boy.”

Peter turned to Neal. “I’m gonna go get the bag from upstairs,” he said, placing his foot on the first step and his hand over the newel post. “Satch’s dry food is in the pantry, and his leash is hanging by the back door.”

Neal nodded and watched as Peter went upstairs at a slow pace. He went back to petting Satchmo for a moment, then stood back up again. Grabbing the food, leash, and getting the dog outside and into the car were all simple tasks that he was quick to complete. 

He slid into the driver’s seat again, shut the door, and waited. He turned around to look back at Satchmo, who was sitting behind the passenger seat upright. The dog looked toward the townhouse door and whined. 

“Relax, bud, dad’ll be out in a minute,” Neal said before realizing the words that had come out of his mouth. He internally chuckled at calling Peter “dad” in any capacity, even if it was just to a dog. He’d noticed that’s what Elizabeth always called Peter when talking to Satchmo about him, so that’s all he was doing here—reassuring the dog.

He heard the front door open and watched his partner lock the door behind him. As Peter came down the steps with a small black suitcase, Neal noticed that his right hand went to hover over the outside of his jacket, but at the last second, he dropped it back down to his side. 

Neal raised an eyebrow at the attempt to conceal the action. 

_What’s in your pocket, Peter?_

Peter walked to the back of the vehicle and opened the door where Satchmo was. He picked up the suitcase and pushed it onto the seat as the dog took the hint to move to the other side behind Neal. 

“Get everything you need?” Neal asked. Not much got by him, especially when he was already suspicious. What he couldn’t figure out was whether Peter was deliberately giving him hints or not. 

“Yeah, I have everything,” Peter said as he buckled his seatbelt. 

###

Satchmo hadn’t ever been to Neal’s apartment before but was all tail wags as Peter let him off the leash. The happy dog looked briefly around the room, then bounded across the room and up onto Neal’s bed. He promptly laid down at the foot of the mattress and rolled over onto his side. His tail flopped around in contentment at his new surroundings. 

Peter grinned as he put his small carry-on suitcase next to the gray sofa. “I guess he likes you,” he said, clapping Neal on the shoulder. 

“He can lay up there all he wants,” Neal said as he put their case files on the dining table. He pointed his finger at the dog jokingly. “As long as he doesn’t have fleas.”

“Oh, no, Elizabeth takes care of that once a month,” Peter said, sitting on the couch. “Not a flea or a tick in sight.”

“The meds are that good?” Neal asked. “I mean, I guess I wouldn’t know; I’ve never had a dog.”

“Maybe you should consider it,” Peter said, sitting down on the sofa and leaning back. 

“Maybe,” Neal said, opening the refrigerator and grabbing them both a bottle of the beer he now kept stocked in the apartment. He usually wasn't a beer drinker, but over the past few months, they had found one they could agree on. 

He didn’t think his friend would need anything extra to get him to sleep, but he wanted to make sure he got there. A beer or two would do it. 

“I’ve never had anywhere stable to keep one, I guess. Moz always said they were a liability to travel with. Too hard to run with one, too easy to get attached and have to leave it behind, that kinda stuff.”

He popped the cap off both bottles and carried them back to the seating area. Handing one to Peter, they clinked bottlenecks together in ceremony. 

Then Peter eyed his for a moment, swirling the golden liquid around in the dark brown bottle. “I probably shouldn’t start drinking this early in the day, but… eh, fuck it,” he said and took a long drink. He rested his arm on the couch with the cold bottle still in hand. 

Peter suddenly furrowed his brow and looked at the arm of the sofa he was sitting on. The gray sofa had a chaise lounge on the right side. Neal had been wondering how long it would take him to notice that. 

“New sofa, huh?”

“Mozzie said if I was staying in New York, he was tired of not having anywhere comfortable to sleep here,” Neal said, taking a drink from his bottle and sitting down on the chaise lounge. “So he picked a sofa bed. That was one of a **_few_ ** concessions I had to make to keep him from going off-grid without me.”

“What else did he ask for?” Peter asked, taking another drink. 

“I had to finish watching the rest of the _Tiles of Fire_ movies with him,” Neal said. Peter used his hand to stop beer from spewing out of his mouth. He didn’t quite succeed.

“Oh, is _that_ all?” Peter said, laughing up at him and wiping at the beads of beer now on his pants. 

“Hours of my life I shall never get back,” Neal sighed. “And no, that wasn’t all.”

Peter straightened up at the statement, resting his beer on his knee.

“What else?”

“He wanted me to let him know if the FBI was investigating anything that could tie back to him,” Neal said, diverting his attention to the floor and slumping his shoulders. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and beer still in one hand, preparing for a lecture. Peter bent towards the arm of the chair to get a better view of him.

“What did you tell him?”

Neal grinned to one side. Every day that passed, there was more and more proof that Peter really did want things to be different this time. Conversations about Mozzie in the past had typically ended up heated or, at the very least, suspicious. Every word or sentence from Peter had the motive of uncovering a lie or a misdirection. But not this time. A simple “what did you tell him” had put another nail in the coffin of their old dynamic. 

“I told him I couldn’t do that,” he replied quietly, hammering in another nail of his own. “What else could I have told him, Peter? I can’t do like before if I’m gonna go straight.”

“I’ve bent and broken the rules for you, and I like to think I'm fairly law-abiding,” Peter said, taking another sip of his beer. “I understand you wanting to do that for him, too. If he can keep helping us with cases periodically, I can justify looking the other way on some things as they come up, especially since I'm in Hughes' old position now. Whether he wants to admit it or not, Moz has been a good CI himself. I just don’t think he’d ever make it official.”

“He would do pretty good working with us officially, wouldn’t he?” Neal said, chuckling. “He could have my old desk.”

Peter snorted at the statement. “And all the mortgage fraud,” he added, his chest shaking from laughter. 

After a moment or two, the laughter had subsided, and there was a comfortable silence between them. Two friends sitting together having a drink and, despite the larger circumstances, being content with it. Such moments had been rare and fleeting ever since Mozzie had stolen the U-boat treasure and cornered Neal into lying about it. 

They had drifted toward and away from each other many times since then as a result of trust broken and trust reforged. It had finally been made nigh unmendable when Neal made a deal with the devil to get Peter out of prison. 

Neal wished he hadn’t done it. 

At least, not the way he had done it. 

His father had stood there in his apartment all but gloating about the fact that he wasn’t going to do anything to clear Peter’s name. Saying that he was going to let him take the fall because someone’s got to, right? And “don’t let it be you,” right?

Had it not been for that refusal to make things right, things between him and Peter could have been very different by now. It wasn’t like Peter hadn’t gone above and beyond for him with Kramer, then again with Collins and somehow managing to get him and Mozzie back to New York without either of them seeing the inside of a jail cell. But, after that conversation with James, he was put in a terrible position. What followed from there, the unspeakable pact he had made with Hagen, Siegel’s death, then Rachel… none of it ever should have happened. 

That damnable conversation in his apartment had set the whole series of events into motion, and there was no emergency brake this time. His relationship with Peter had already been on the edge of a cliff, and the dive off couldn’t be avoided anymore; even if Peter hated him for it, preventing his handler’s indictment for the murder of Pratt and loss of his FBI career was worth the punishment he would receive. 

Neal’s ears burned as he recalled the advice James had the audacity to speak to him in his own home after thirty years of absence. “Don’t let it be you.”

Neal had made a decision that day.

_If it has to be me for it to be right for Peter, it’ll be me._

Then, his stomach turned at recalling how much of a coward he had been to let James leave. 

He could have stopped him. At least, that’s what he’s told himself many times since that day, even though he intellectually knows he would be no match for the old man in a real fight. But even so, even if he had gotten his ass kicked trying to stop him, hadn’t Peter been worth at least the attempt?

Mozzie had all of his contacts looking for James that day. As far as Neal knew, he probably still had people looking for him. His friend had a fierce amount of loyalty tucked inside his bald head, and once he was crossed, the man had connections he could put into play that would make even Neal cringe. Some that Mozzie had even refused to introduce him to. 

It wouldn't surprise him at all if his father was now some shallow-graved or concrete-shoed John Doe as a result. How Mozzie felt about loose ends was no secret between them, and if James Bennett was ever in the position to take advantage of the fact that he didn't make that confession, he would do it for the con equivalent of a candy bar. 

After a few times of Neal ignoring his attempts to update him on the search, Mozzie had taken the hint that he didn't want to know how it ended. Or _**if**_ it ended. Neal had sealed himself off from that part of his life, like cauterizing a wound. If the old man was dead, he didn't want to deal with it. He wasn't prepared to deal with it.

"You okay?" Peter said, touching Neal on the arm. 

"Yeah, sorry," Neal replied. "I spaced for a minute."

"What's on your mind?" 

"Just how to deal with Moz going forward," Neal said. Even under their new agreement, he got to have some privacy in his thoughts. "It's not gonna be easy. I don't want to lose him."

"We'll try to not let that happen," Peter said. 

Neal’s phone rang; he checked the name as he pulled it from his jacket pocket.

"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear," Neal said, showing Peter the screen. 

Peter nodded, gesturing for him to go take the call in private if he needed to. They had come a long way toward perfecting their nonverbal communication with each other. 

Neal pressed the green answer button as he stood. "Yeah, Moz?" He walked over to the dining table so his friend's voice was just out of Peter's earshot. 

"Do you have company?" 

"Of course," Neal said. "What's up?" 

"Meet me at Straus Park in twenty minutes," he said. "Alone."

"All right," Neal said, looking across the room at Peter. He hung the phone up and put it back in his pocket. "Moz wants to meet me; he didn't say about what."

He had a sinking feeling that he shouldn't go, but he didn't feel like he had a choice.

"I'll be here when you get back," Peter said, finishing the bottle in his hand. He got up to go throw it in the trash. 

"Stuff for the pull out sofa is in the storage compartment under the chaise lounge," Neal said. "It shouldn't take too long. He's just down the road."

"He's never gonna trust me, is he?" 

"Peter, there are things he still doesn't trust me with," Neal replied, shrugging. "He thinks about people almost purely in terms of liabilities, assets, and contingencies. It's an adventure trying to get him to think about them any other way."

"He thinks about you another way," Peter said. 

"I think I'm the only person he's ever had more than a fleeting attachment to," Neal said, picking up his coat again. "I think he's warming up to Elizabeth, though."

"I'm actually happy about that," Peter admitted. "She needs more friends, and I can reasonably assume she's safe if she's with him. Or you."

"She's good for him," Neal said, placing his hand on the doorknob. Peter nodded and waved him on. 

Neal shut the door behind him and stood there a moment before descending the stairs. 

_Just like you're good for me._

###

The small park was just a couple of blocks from June's home, and Mozzie was there waiting for him on an icy park bench. His black glasses stood out against his tan Russian hat - - _ushanka_ , he heard Mozzie correct him in his head - - and tan faux fur coat. For someone who always prided himself on his ability to blend in, he sure wasn't doing that today. 

"Hey, Moz," Neal said, sitting next to him on the bench. "You needed to see me?" 

Mozzie held up a hand and leaned away from him. 

"Don't get mad--" 

"What did you do _?_ " 

"Look, I know you said not to dig--" 

"Geez, Moz, that's the one thing I said I didn't want you to do," Neal said, putting his hand over his face. "Don't tell me whatever it is you know. I don’t want to know.”

“You don’t want to know that--”

“No!” Neal said, holding his hands out defensively. He held his eyes on the man a moment, then sighed. “I know you mean well, Moz, but I don’t want to know anything I’m gonna have to lie to Peter about. He’s at the apartment, and even though he’s probably passed out asleep by now, eventually, he’ll ask me what you wanted to see me about, and I don’t want to have to lie. I said I didn’t want you to dig specifically for that reason.”

“What if I tell you what I know but not how I know it?”

“No, you still don’t get it,” Neal said, standing up. He was about to walk away when Mozzie grabbed him by the coat.

“What if **_I_ ** think he’s in danger? Does that count?”

Neal halted and turned to look back at him. 

“Do you?”

“Not yet,” Mozzie admitted, letting go of the coat. “But what I found out doesn’t exactly lead me to be optimistic about his chances. I wouldn’t have asked you down here otherwise.”

_Dammit._

Mozzie knew exactly how to get his attention. He sat back down and sighed. He found himself doing that a lot recently. 

“Okay, what?”

“I had someone who owed me a favor pull his E-Z pass data from his car,” Mozzie said. “I looked at the data for the past three months. All was normal until last night.”

“You pulled his E-Z pass data between when we talked earlier and now?” Neal asked, raising his eyebrows. “That was fast.”

“I’m expeditious when something’s on my mind,” Mozzie said, holding up a finger. “What route does the suit usually take home?”

“Sometimes the Manhattan Bridge, sometimes the Brooklyn Bridge, depends on traffic,” Neal said. “But those aren’t toll bridges.”

“Okay, see, that’s where things are odd,” Mozzie said. “Elizabeth said he didn’t get home until after two o’clock, right?”

“Right…”

“His E-Z pass data shows him entering the Battery Tunnel at eleven fifteen last night,” Mozzie said. “Why did he take the tunnel instead of his normal route home? And why did it take him more than two extra hours to get there? We’ve got two hours and forty-five minutes of missing time here, Neal.”

“He didn’t tell me he was going anywhere after I left,” Neal said. “If I’d thought he was going somewhere alone late at night for a case, I would have gone with him. I love New York City, but some things you don’t do alone after dark. He knows that.”

"Exactly," Mozzie said. “I told you that you have my interest, and while the suit having a secret from us isn’t exactly novel, having a secret from Elizabeth **_and_ ** us is. So, I didn’t stop digging there.”

“What else have you got?”

“Since we already know that he used the Battery Tunnel to get to Brooklyn last night, I talked to a contact that I have that just so happens to be with one of the NYPD Brooklyn precincts right now. I got him to poke around a bit for me.”

“You have a contact in the NYPD?” Neal said, raising an eyebrow. “Not like you to consort with the enemy.”

“I have a contact in the mob that just so happens to be a mole in the NYPD.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Just go with it,” Mozzie said as he waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, I gave him the suit’s license plate number--”

“You had Peter’s license plate number?”

“I have all of the suit’s numbers, both mister and missus,” Mozzie said flatly. “Anyway, I asked him if anyone had run that plate in the area last night, and they did! An officer (not my guy) called in on the radio an FBI agent named Peter Burke hanging out in the Cleft Ridge tunnel in Prospect Park at… you guessed it… two o’clock.”

“What the hell was he doing at the park in the middle of the night?”

“I don’t know, but he was there illegally; that park closes at one o’clock,” Mozzie said. “He told the cop he was acting on a tip that a meeting was supposed to take place at midnight, and they never showed.”

“So he waited from before midnight all the way till two?” Neal said. “Waiting in the tunnel doesn’t seem like a good place to stake out; visibility would be too limited. He wasn’t waiting to watch a meeting; he was waiting to have a meeting… and someone didn't show."

“Perceptive,” Mozzie said, nodding. 

“It was eighteen degrees outside last night,” Neal said. “If he was meeting someone, it must have been pretty damn important for him to wait that long outside his car.”

“I don’t have any evidence that he’s in tangible danger here, Neal, but I don’t like this,” Mozzie said. Neal raised an eyebrow.

“Are you actually worried about Peter?”

“Perish the thought,” Mozzie said, turning his head away from Neal. “I’m simply looking out for you. It seems as though if he’s in trouble, so are you. That makes it my problem.”

Neal knew Mozzie was exaggerating his lack of care for Peter, but he didn’t feel the need to push him about it. Mozzie had previously offered to help spring Peter from prison and even assist him and Elizabeth in acquiring new identities should the need arise. It wasn’t an offer he ever would have made for someone he didn’t care for, and Neal was certain at this point that Mozzie’s care, particularly for Elizabeth, wasn't only due to his ties to Peter. 

Mozzie legitimately cared for them both, but for Mozzie to admit to caring was to admit to being vulnerable. He would never do that until he was ready, no matter how Neal tried to drag it out of him. There was no point in trying.

Neal leaned back on the bench in defeat. Now that he had information that he thought he wouldn’t want, he had a new problem. 

"What do I tell Peter you wanted?" 

"In the interest of preserving your current integrity with the suit, you tell him the truth," Mozzie said. "In the interest of keeping him from getting into trouble alone, you tell him I had some new hare-brained con that I wanted you to help plan, and you said no."

"Do you have some new hare-brained con you want me to help you plan?" 

"Yes, I do," Mozzie said, breaking out into an excited giggle. 

"Was this your excuse to bring it up?" 

"Yes," Mozzie said. He held up a finger and grinned. " But , now, instead of a lie, you have an omission."

"But, I didn't say no yet," Neal pointed out. 

"It involves the chambers of another federal judge, a flash drive, and a pomeranian."

"Not a chance in hell," Neal said, rolling his eyes. 

"See? Now it's true!" Mozzie said, standing up. 

"You just made that up," Neal said as he joined him. Mozzie lifted his eyebrows gleefully and pointed at him again. 

"How will you ever know?"

Neal laughed as his friend bowed gracefully and walked away. 

###

The rest of Neal’s afternoon was spent at the dining table going over the current case he and Peter were working on. The sun had already set, and the apartment was dimly lit throughout. He usually worked with more light on, but left it dimmed for the sake of his sleeping partner across the room. 

Peter was the ASAC of white collar now, and he didn’t do much fieldwork anymore, but he did take on certain cases that attracted his and Neal’s mutual interest. They weren't often high profile cases, but it kept them in the habit of working directly together. 

Neal continued to consult and go undercover as needed, but he was never undercover if Peter, Jones, or Diana weren’t on the scene. Other divisions requested his expertise from time to time, as well. 

However, Peter had made it clear to the other ASACs in the New York office that there would be no cooperation from White Collar if Neal wasn’t respected and treated as an equal member of the team on operations, and if they didn’t like his terms, they could take it up with the Section Chief. After the FBI Director refused his request for commutation, Bruce had his back in making Neal's remaining time with the FBI as respectful as possible. 

Neal was glad he and Peter had their own cases to work on the side together. They still had the FBI’s resources at their disposal, but these were typically small cases that didn’t require the entire office of agents to solve. 

Their most recent case pick was different, though. 

It was a money laundering case they’d been working on together for weeks beforehand. While they had found three shell companies that the money was moving through and multiple real people attached to those companies, they still didn’t know who the real owner of the last account was. 

They were almost two weeks in, and they still didn't know much more than when they started. The dead-end account was in the name of Matthew Leland and over a decade old. The deposits into the account were usually wires, but sometimes cash, and were never over the IRS’s $10,000 deposit limit. Neal wondered why the account had never been investigated for structuring. An account that was obviously structuring its deposits to be under the IRS’s $10,000 reporting limit made it obvious to Neal what was happening; this was dark money. 

Neal tapped the pen in his hand against his temple. Too many questions and not enough answers at this point. 

He glanced over toward the sofa. The bed had been pulled out and fully dressed with sheets and dark blue cotton blanket out of the chaise lounge storage; Peter was dead to the world by the time he got back from seeing Mozzie. Satchmo had abandoned Neal's bed in favor of napping with his master. 

If someone had told him six years ago that… well, if anyone had told him anything about what his life would be like today, none of it would have made sense. 

Now, no other life made sense. 

He turned back to the file but glanced back to his left as he heard the rustling of the blankets. Peter had punched the bed twice and kicked like something was attacking him. Satchmo quickly jumped down and trotted over to Neal. He sat next to his chair and whined as he looked back at the bed.

"Yeah, I know he's struggling today, bud, but he'll be okay," Neal said, rubbing behind the dog's ears. He watched in pensive silence as his handler settled once again and remained still under the blanket. 

There was a knock at the door. Satchmo turned and grumbled quietly in that direction as Neal got up and went to it. He opened it quietly. It was one of June's servants. 

"There was a food delivery for you, Mr. Caffrey," the woman said. She handed him a white bag with gold, cursive lettering on the side: The Granary. It contained twoblack plastic takeout plates with clear lids and two smaller containers of the same type. 

"Thank you," Neal said. The woman nodded and went back down the stairs. Neal shut the door. 

He took the bag back to the dining table and began moving the FBI paperwork to another dining chair. It didn't take him but a moment to get two dinner plates, two forks, and a knife from the kitchen and set the table. The containers remained closed next to the empty plates as he went to rouse his partner. 

"Hey," Neal said, jostling Peter's foot. "Time to eat."

Peter startled and raised his head up immediately to examine his surroundings. When his eyes finally caught his friend's face, he blinked, cleared his throat, and exhaled. 

"What?" 

"Dinner," Neal said, pointing his thumb back at the table. He realized how disoriented Peter was when he didn’t respond immediately. “You’re at my place. It’s about six o’clock.”

"Oh," Peter said, wiping his hand over his face. "Sorry, I forgot."

"It's fine," Neal said, standing back upright. "Want another beer or a glass of wine?" 

"Wine is fine," Peter replied. He raked a hand through his disheveled hair in a vain attempt to smooth it out, then tossed the blanket aside so he could get up. His white short-sleeved shirt and cotton sleep pants hung loosely off his frame as he made his way to the table.

Neal had broken out a bottle of red wine and was pouring two glasses as his partner sat down. Peter pointed at the place settings. 

"Take out tonight, huh?" he said with a grin. "No time to cook?" 

"I'm a working man now, remember?" Neal said, gesturing at the stack of case files on the other chair. "I was busy, you had a rough day, and I could afford the takeout. So I did. Yours is on the window side."

Peter nodded and sat down in front of the place setting closest to the balcony door. 

"Judging by container quality alone, this wasn't cheap," he said, examining both of the boxes in front of him, then the bag on the table. He looked up at Neal. "The Granary? El’s been wanting to go there for months. What did this cost?" 

"Now **_I_ ** have a secret," Neal said as he handed him a glass of the wine. Peter placed it down on the table and opened the large container. His eyes widened. 

In it was a large ribeye steak, dinner roll, and a condiment container of butter. He then discovered the smaller container held a baked potato with sour cream, broccoli, cheese, and bacon bits. 

"Wow, this… this is nice," Peter said. "Thank you."

"No problem," Neal said, sitting in front of his own plate. "You once told me you'd be there if I needed you. Goes both ways."

Neal opened his plates to reveal a peppered salmon filet, wild rice, and a container of alfredo sauce. The small container held some steamed asparagus with a condiment container of butter. 

"So it does," Peter said as he used his fork to move his food to the stoneware dinner plate he had been provided. Neal did the same with his own and was about to take a bite of the rice when his partner spoke again. 

"How's Mozzie?" 

The amount of time Neal had frozen in his seat would have been barely noticeable to most, but the subtlety wasn’t lost on Peter. 

"Don't worry," Peter said, waving his hand. He began cutting into his steak. "I'm not asking you what he wanted from you. Just how he's doing. I haven’t seen him in a while."

"He's fine,” Neal said as he unfroze and finally took in the bite of rice from his fork. He still wasn’t quite used to Peter’s new attitude. Old habits die hard, but Peter seemed to have done a good job at ditching his old ways. "He’s still a little pissy about me staying here instead of going out on the run with him, but he's getting over it. He still hates me trying to go straight."

"He's been at it longer; he sees no other way," Peter said, cutting another piece of steak. “It’d be like me leaving the FBI.”

“Moz has been a con longer than you’ve been in the FBI,” Neal said, cutting a piece of asparagus with his fork and eating it. “He started before he hit puberty, remember?”

“I guess it’s different when you basically grow up like that,” Peter said as he cut a slit in the dinner roll and used the knife to push butter into it. "Did you come up with anything else on the Leland case while I was asleep?"

“The only thing new is the pics from the surveillance cameras across the street of him exiting the bank yesterday morning,” Neal said, cutting a piece of asparagus with his fork and taking a bite. “The image is good, but we don’t have a match for the guy in the facial recognition database. This lines up with everything else we have on this case. It’s a dead end.”

“Damn,” Peter said. “And there’s nothing else you’ve found for us to go on at all? Any hint of anything?”

"Nope," Neal replied as he poured the alfredo sauce over the salmon. He flaked some of the fish off onto his fork and took a bite. "Money trail is a dead end. The company that the account belongs to is another shell company, and the only person tied to it that I’ve found is Matthew Leland. This guy effectively doesn't exist, even though all the markers that he does are there. Birth record, credit report, hospital records, all the stuff that makes a dossier look legit.”

“What makes it look not legit?”

“I can’t find anything about him on Google.”

Peter stopped chewing his steak and swallowed. “You’re serious? You can’t find him on Google, and that’s what has you suspicious?”

“No, that’s what has Mozzie suspicious. Have you ever Googled yourself, Peter?” Neal asked, then realized what he had just said. He broke out into laughter and held up his hand as Peter rolled his eyes. “I said that wrong. Have you ever searched for yourself online?”

“No, I haven’t,” Peter said, switching to his loaded baked potato. He cut into it easily with a fork, scooped up a mixture of potato, broccoli, and cheese, and put it in his mouth. Satchmo sat next to the table and whined.

“You want a piece of steak?” Peter asked. The dog huffed, and Peter responded by slicing off a piece and tossing it to him. Satchmo caught it in midair. “Don’t tell your mother.” 

“If I didn’t like Satch, I’d be insulted that you’re feeding the dog that steak,” Neal said. He cut away a small piece of salmon and tossed that to Satchmo as well. “But, he can be spoiled a little today.”

“Anyway, there’s info online that isn’t in a standard dossier,” Neal said, looking back toward Peter. “This is Moz’s territory, not mine, but the way he explained it to me is that you’re almost always going to find something about someone online that isn’t in their credit report, government records, all that. For someone in control of this much money, Moz said it’s odd that there’s nothing human about him online anywhere. No social media, no blog, no mentions in press releases, no comments left anywhere, nothing that ties back to this identity and this account. With the other shell companies, that stuff existed for the identities we tied them to. But this last guy is a ghost.”

“Oh, I believe in ghosts,” Peter said, raising his eyebrows and sipping his wine. “I’ve met a few.”

“Whoever they are, they're better than Moz." Neal pointed toward Peter with his fork. "And Moz agrees."

"No shit, someone better at hiding than him ?" Peter said, raising an eyebrow. He threw up his hands. "Call in the dogs and put out the fire; I guess we're done."

"Kinda looks like we might be," Neal said, chuckling at his friend’s wording. "But I'm not ready to give up on this just yet."

"What do you think you’re missing?" 

"I don't know, Peter," Neal replied, shaking his head. "Nobody's this good. We've dealt with high-end criminal stuff, government stuff, foreign stuff… We've been from the bottom to the top of criminal intelligence since we've started working together, and I haven't seen work this good. How did this even land on our radar?"

"Anonymous tip," Peter said. "Someone called it in."

“Who else besides someone at the bank would have called this in?” Neal asked. “I know we said we didn’t want to talk to anyone at the bank yet--”

“No, not yet,” Peter said. “The bank may be in on it. If whoever owns this account gets wind that we’re snooping around, they might abandon it. Or move everything overseas and start over where we can’t touch it.”

“We could freeze the account,” Neal said. “But, if someone froze my account with fifteen million dollars of dark money in it, I’d be pretty pissed. There’s no telling who the money actually belongs to.”

Peter wiped his mouth with his napkin before taking a long sip of wine.

“At this point, I’m not sure I want to find out.”

Neal wasn’t sure what to think of Peter’s last statement as they worked on finishing their meals in the dimly lit room. It wasn’t like Peter to not want to follow through on a case. His behavior earlier in the day, the secret trip to the park late last night, the item in his pocket, and now this? He hadn’t planned on asking Peter about the park yet, but the man’s last statement changed that.

“Why were you in Prospect Park last night?” Neal asked as he placed his fork down on the empty plate before him. He already knew the answer, but that was the point of asking. Would Peter tell him the truth?

Peter paused before taking the last drink of wine in his glass, then set it down on the table. His deep brown eyes focused squarely on Neal. 

“How did you know I was there last night?”

“Peter, this information was given to me; I didn’t go looking for it,” Neal said, holding up a finger and leaning back in his chair. 

“This is what Mozzie wanted to talk to you about earlier, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Neal admitted. “But, you didn’t ask ** _,_** and I didn’t lie …”

He was being defensive, and he knew it, but it was challenging to be anything else when Peter looked at him that way. Like so many other things, it was a part of their old dynamic, but his handler's body language heavily suggested that he wasn’t happy with the question. He didn't know how to deal with it any other way. 

“I know, it’s all right,” Peter said, holding up his hand to stop Neal from further justifying himself. “He wanted to meet you alone, so I figured he might be up to something, and I didn’t want to put you in the position to have to lie. I made it a **_point_ ** not to ask.”

“Does this mean you’ll tell me what you were doing in the park last night?”

“It means I won’t lie to you about what I was doing in the park last night,” Peter said. “How did Mozzie find out I was there?”

“He got your E-Z pass data... and called in a favor from the… mob,” Neal said, shrinking in his chair a bit as he said the last half of the sentence. He smiled uncomfortably as he held empty hands up and shrugged his shoulders. 

Peter’s face went slack for a moment, then he tilted his head forward sharply, his chin almost touching his chest. He cut his eyes up toward Neal.

“He called in a favor… from the mob … to get information about where I was…?”

“The E-Z pass data told him about where you were because you used the Battery Tunnel instead of the Manhattan or Brooklyn Bridge,” Neal said. “From there, he called someone in the NYPD who found out your license plate was run in the area last night. You were ID’d in the Cleft Ridge tunnel at two.”

“I thought his contact was with the mob?”

“He’s... a mole in the NYPD,” Neal said, his demeanor as if Peter had just caught him with his wallet again. 

“I’m somehow shocked and not shocked all at the same time,” Peter sighed, wiping his hand across his right cheek. “I don’t suppose he’d be willing to share that contact with me, would he?”

“Not a chance in hell,” Neal chuckled. “But, we’re getting off-topic. It was far below freezing last night. Why were you in that tunnel for two hours? The contact said you had a tip on a meeting there, and you were waiting to see if anyone showed up for it. But, you don’t do stakeouts in inclement weather like that, and you don’t do them in a tunnel. The tunnel was the meeting place, and you were the one doing the meeting.”

“You’ve got it figured out,” Peter said. “I was meeting someone. They didn’t show.”

“Who was important enough for you to meet in that kind of weather at midnight in secret without telling me or Elizabeth?” Neal asked. “Even if you had to meet alone, you should have told me so I could be close.”

“I know you would have come with me, Neal,” Peter said, leaning forward towards him. “And I would have brought you if I’d been meeting someone I didn’t trust. But he would have spotted you from a mile away, and he would have been pissed about me bringing you.”

“Who is it?”

“Someone I’ve known for longer than I’ve been in the FBI,” Peter said as he leaned back in the chair again. “He’s never missed a meet. Never even a reschedule. Not in over ten years.”

“That’s punctuality I can admire,” Neal said, raising his eyebrows. “He must have a lot of control over his life to pull that off.”

“Whatever control he had, I think he lost it last night,” Peter said. “I don’t know what to think.”

“What was the meeting about?”

“I don’t know what he wanted,” Peter said. "Same thing with the FBI meeting today before I went. I won't know until I see him. If I see him now."

Neal watched as Peter stood up and walked across the room to where he had laid his jacket across the back of the sofa and reached into the inner pocket. His partner produced a small gray device and held it up between his fingers and thumb as he walked back toward the table. He handed it to Neal, then sat back down across from him.

Neal picked up the device and examined it. It was dark gray with a lid that flipped open on the top to reveal a small alpha-numeric keyboard, four arrow keys, and a few other miscellaneous buttons. He smiled.

“A pager?” Neal said. He looked up from the device at Peter. “Secrecy must be important if he’s using this. I had one to keep in touch with Ellen. It was the only thing I could use with her.” 

“Yeah, it’s the only thing he’ll use to contact me,” Peter said. “They don’t use the same network as cell phones, and this pager is encrypted, so the messages from it and to it can’t be intercepted or altered. That’s the only way I know it’s him, plus this is a burner; he gives me a new one each time we meet.” 

“I’m surprised Mozzie doesn’t have one,” Neal said. He closed the pager and tried to hand it back to Peter, who pushed it back in his direction. 

“You can read the most recent messages,” he said. “There’s nothing there I can’t tell you, and anything older than that’s been deleted. He contacted me earlier this week to set up the meeting and didn’t say what it was over. He gave me a time and a place to meet him, and he asked me a question. It’s all there.”

Neal took the pager back and pulled up the most recent messages between them. 

“Cleft Ridge tunnel, midnight Thursday. Remember CWIC?” Neal said. He looked back up at Peter as he closed the top over the keyboard. “What’s CWIC?”

“Cold Weather Indoctrination Course,” Peter replied. Neal offered the pager back to him, and he sat it back down on the table next to his empty wine glass. “It’s run out of Fort Wainwright in Alaska. I took the course with him after Quantico.”

“So, he’s FBI?”

Peter closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Not anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a little longer than I expected. Special thanks to my beta reader, cheride!


	4. Dealings With Devils

Neal sat in his office Monday morning staring at a new set of case files to sift through. It was the same junk as usual that nobody else wanted to deal with: mortgage fraud, investment scams, and more of the same boring cases that he honestly felt were below his and Peter's skill levels. These were the cases you gave junior agents to cut their teeth on and not-so-junior agents as punishment.

He had wanted to go over the Leland case files again, but Peter took all of them home with him after the weekend was over. He had insisted on keeping the files and the contents between them after the conversation at the dinner table. Neal's additional questions about the contact that never showed were dodged and stonewalled, with Peter saying he couldn't tell him anything else yet. Neal wasn't exactly satisfied with that answer, but accepted it temporarily; he now knew more than before, and that was progress. When there wasn't trust, there was faith.

The fact that they couldn't figure out the identity of the man leaving the bank was bothering Peter to the point that he was willing to keep anyone else at the Bureau from looking at the files. They had decided that they could discuss anything new that came up off the clock. But, officially, Peter didn't want any FBI resources expended on anything in those files anymore. The only person that could look into the case now was Mozzie, and even he was nearing the end of his usefulness with it.

The case the rest of the office was working on, the Murray case, wasn't the most intriguing thing they had ever worked on, but it wasn't the most boring, either. Someone stole an heirloom painting from the home of a New York state senator's eldest sister, and the higher-ups had put the case on white collar's priority list. Peter hated having to do political favors, especially after Senator Pratt's death, but Bancroft had persuaded him that it was in their best interest for their division to be owed a favor from time to time.

It hadn't been too difficult for Neal to figure out who had done it. The homeowner's house sitter had been in a perfect position to make off with the painting and had likely done it when the homeowner had been out of state a year ago. She replaced it with a reproduction, and the homeowner didn't notice the difference until they moved last month.

Neal concluded that the house sitter was the only reasonable suspect; according to the homeowner, no one else knew the painting was there or the value of it. Now all they had to do was link the house sitter to the forgery.

But that should be easy.

Neal stood up and bounced the rubber band ball off the picture window that adjoined Peter's office. Peter startled at his desk and looked up at the source of the noise. When he realized what had happened, he made a jesting sour face toward his partner through the glass.

Neal grinned at him as he sat back down and leaned back in his chair. He was getting nowhere with picking a new case for them to work on. His last undercover case had been weeks ago, and as much as he felt in his element, Peter not being there to watch his back felt off. It wasn't that he thought Diana or Jones would let anything happen to him on purpose, but they weren't his partner. They didn't understand him, his motivations, or his tactics the same way Peter did. There was always second-guessing on both ends of the operation if the messages sent were understood correctly. He was never completely at ease without Peter there.

Neal's office door opened, and Peter stepped inside.

"I hope you don't think that's appropriate behavior for the office; these walls are **glass** , you know," he said, pointing to the view out into the bullpen.

"C'mon, I had to do it just once," Neal replied with a smirk. He had to push his luck with Peter every once in a while. "You should've seen your face."

"I made that face on purpose, you know," Peter said. "Anyway, what did you need?"

"These cases are duds, boss," Neal replied, gesturing toward the pile of blue FBI folders on his desk. "These aren't for us. They're a waste of talent."

"They're what we've got right now," Peter said, shrugging his shoulders. "I've got a stack of paperwork a mile high on my desk to go through and sign, an operation briefing in the conference room for the Murray case after lunch, and-"

There was a sharp couple of knocks on the open door as Jones leaned into the room.

"Hey, Peter, heads up, Bancroft is here."

Jones nodded his head towards the bullpen as Peter and Neal stood to look. Kyle Bancroft, Special Agent in Charge of the white collar division, walked down the center aisle of the office with two agents carrying briefcases in tow. Bancroft was just as Neal had remembered him: a senior but not elderly black man whose presence dominated wherever he was. Unfortunately, the agent behind him on the right reminded Neal of the dirty blond-headed Agent Siegel, while the one on the left was a younger version of himself minus the fedora and sense of high style.

Neal had never seen either one of them before, and from the look on Peter's face, he hadn't, either. They stepped out of Neal's office to greet the three men while Jones escaped back to his desk.

Bancroft stopped just past the top of the stairs and outstretched a hand toward Peter. They shook hands, then Bancroft turned to Neal to shake his.

"How are you, sir?" Neal said, nodding as he shook his superior's hand.

"I'm well, thank you," Bancroft said, then turned to Peter. "Agent Burke, these are Agents Thomas and Nichols. They're on loan from the DC office to help with the Murray case."

Both agents stepped forward and took a turn shaking Peter's hand. Agent Thomas turned to Neal and extended his hand to him.

"I'm Agent Thomas," the younger version of himself said. "Agent…?"

"CI, actually. Neal Caffrey," Neal said as he put his hand out. Agent Thomas continued to shake his hand with a tad less enthusiasm. The blond-haired Agent Nichols couldn't stifle a snicker.

"A CI with his own office, huh?" Nichols said, looking through the glass into the room. "That's a novel idea."

As Bancroft raised an eyebrow at the young man, Neal couldn't help but be reminded of how imposing a figure Hughes could be simply by stepping into the room. Bancroft was similar, but Neal had been able to go to an art show with him early on in his work-release agreement, and because of that, he knew the man could be good company, even if he could be harsh.

But it was Peter who stepped forward and spoke.

"Your help here is appreciated, but let me make one thing abundantly clear," Peter sharply informed the visiting agents. They both instantly developed straight faces. "Caffrey has been a valuable asset to the Bureau for years, and while a CI having his own office isn't exactly common, he's earned it. If he has my respect, as well as that of Bancroft and the section chief, you would do well to give him yours while you're here."

It was the first time Neal had heard any of his superiors defend him in the open to such a degree. He hadn't expected it from either of them, but he would have expected it from Bancroft before Peter, even if only because the older man was the highest-ranking agent in the room.

"I'm sure he meant no disrespect, Agent Burke," Neal said, not taking his eyes off of the agents. He could feel his cheeks starting to redden despite his best efforts. "My situation **is** a tad unorthodox."

Peter shot him a look of reprimand, and it didn't take long for Bancroft to follow suit.

"I'm sure it **was** disrespectful, Mr. Caffrey," Bancroft corrected him as he turned to Peter. "Agent Burke, you can take over from here. Get them settled in, then come see me in my office in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir," Peter said. Bancroft nodded, and the two visiting agents quickly moved out of his way as he went to descend the stairs back to the bullpen. "Thomas, Nichols, we only have one free desk in the bullpen right now for you to work from. It's on the left just before you get to the elevators. I hope that won't be a problem. The meeting on the Murray case will be in the conference room after lunch."

"No, it won't be a problem, sir," Thomas said. "It won't take us long to get set up to work from there."

"All right," Peter said. "Get set up and let me know when you're done."

The two younger agents went back down into the bullpen and to Neal's old desk. Peter watched as they both sat their briefcases down on it, then he turned to Neal.

"My office for a few," Peter said, moving toward his office door. Neal followed behind him, unsure of what he had done wrong.

As soon as they were in, Neal shut the door behind them.

"You know I've handled guys like that before; you didn't have to do that," Neal said as he sat down in the chair across from the desk and crossed his arms. It was his turn not to hide the fact that he was bothered.

Peter defending him like that was a new experience, but he didn't anticipate having this kind of reaction to it. He knew his partner had gone to bat for him behind closed doors after he had decided to stay in New York, but this was the first time Peter had done it in front of him. He could feel his face still flushed with embarrassment.

"Yes, I **did** have to do that," Peter said, leaning back against his desk. "Defending you wasn't just about defending you. Me doing that accomplished three things."

"Which are..?"

"I haven't always done as good a job as I should have at defending you, but that's not the only reason I did it," Peter said. "First, defending you in that instance as your superior was the right thing to do. If it had been Diana or Jones picking at you, I would have been happy to let you handle it. But it **wasn't**."

Peter walked around his desk and plucked a pen out of a cup full of them next to his computer monitor as he sat down in his chair.

"Second, those two agents are visitors from **DC** ," Peter said, gesturing toward the window with the pen. "Me stepping in and defending you reminded them that they're in **New York**. DC people always want to run the show, and they gave me a perfect opportunity to remind them that they **don't**."

"They're both younger than me; I don't see how they think they could have a say in anything," Neal said. "This isn't like dealing with OPR, Kramer, or the DOJ people we've had come in here before. They're just junior agents, Peter."

"Which makes what I did even more necessary. They're juniors, but they were bold enough to harass you in front of Bancroft **and** me," Peter said. "Which brings me to my third point: I needed to step in and handle it before **he** did. He hesitated to respond on purpose so that I could have the opportunity. This is my office with my people in it, and doing what I did showed him that I'm capable of handling our internal business with minimal involvement from him and that if he has to step in, we have a problem that deserves his attention."

So that's what this was about."I understand," Neal said, averting his eyes to the floor. "You have an image to maintain and protect in the office. I get it."

While what Peter was telling him made sense, it didn't change how he felt overall. Peter being that acerbic with the visiting agents had unexpectedly activated his somewhat dormant flight mechanism. It was the first time he had felt like running away in months, but he wasn't sure why he felt that way now. Maybe it was because he hadn't seen that side of his partner in a while? Ever since the day Peter had discovered he had been behind the coin heist, just seeing Peter angry with someone else put him on edge.

He shifted his feet in front of the chair.

"But I don't want you to **have** to defend me."

"This wasn't just about **my** image. You having the other office gives you an air of authority that **most** who come here will respect," Peter said. "I didn't defend you to baby you; I did it to keep **them** from throwing their weight around. I know you can take care of yourself. Just don't undermine what I say by letting them know that you'll tolerate them treating you that way or make them think that you won't inform me if they do."

"Okay," Neal said. This felt like a lecture, something that he thought they had banished to the past. He looked down and toward his left at the floor. "Next time, I'll just keep my mouth shut and come to you if there's a problem."

Peter closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

"I don't _want_ you to 'keep your mouth shut,' that's not what this is about; you're hearing my words, but you're not listeningto what I'm saying," Peter stated. He leaned forward and clasped his hands together as he put his arms on his desk. "Look at me and listen. Do you remember the first time I told you we were partners? The Lao case?"

"I remember how surprised I was," Neal said as he reluctantly looked back up at him. "I was just an asset on a flimsy work release agreement with the FBI at the time. My situation... wasn't exactly what I thought it was."

"And it isn't now. You help me run this division now just as well as I did when this was Hughes' office and when your office was mine. You're my partner. This is **our** department. **We** run this place," Peter explained, gesturing between them, then drawing a wide circle in the air with his finger.

Neal sat up in his seat and uncrossed his arms.

"We do?"

Something else new. He had long settled into the idea that he and Peter were partners, but now he was actually helping him run the division? As a CI? He couldn't wait to avoid telling Mozzie about this.

"Yes, **we** do. **I** may be the figurehead with the fancy official title, but for all intents and purposes, you're my deputy. I can't make you an agent, but I can treat you like one, and when I do, you **have** to play the part in front of other agents."

"And I'm not stepping on Jones' toes with all of this?"

"Jones has the title he wants, the salary he wants, and the responsibilities that he wants," Peter replied. "He's where he wants to be; I've talked to him about this at length, and we're on the same page. You're good there, so you can stop worrying about it."

"I didn't mean to get defensive," Neal said. "I'm still getting used to… this."

"I didn't bring you in here to crawl your ass about what you said out there if that's what you thought," Peter said.

"Crawl… my ass..?" Neal said, chuckling hard at the phrase.

"It's something Hughes used to say," Peter said, smiling. "I mean that I didn't bring you in to **lecture** you. What happened out there was office politics, and it's bullshit, but it's bullshit that matters."

"Yeah, I guess it is," Neal sighed.

"Neal, if you don't make them feel like they have to respect you, not only will they not respect **you** , they won't respect **me**. If you just dismiss it and let it go, they won't respect **us** as a team. When you're in this office, you answer to no one but Bancroft and me. You don't take orders from them unless I specifically tell you to, and that means you don't have to take their shit, either."

"Good to know I have a license to bite back," Neal said. "Does that complete my lesson for today in office politics?"

"It does, but I have a feeling I'm about to have to go to my own lesson. I have to go see Bancroft," Peter said. "And speaking of helping me run this office, my assistant called in sick. I thought I'd give you his job for a little while."

"I already get you fancy coffee," Neal said, breaking out into a grin.

"But you don't sign paperwork for me."

"You're… asking me to forge your signature?" Neal said, eyes widened. "On official FBI documents?"

"I am," Peter said, leaning back in his chair. He was clearly enjoying this conversation. "Go through this stack of paperwork and sign anything you know I would sign and set aside anything you're unsure about and anything that you think is a definite no. I've already dealt with anything you wouldn't be allowed to read."

"Didn't Hughes used to have a stamp with his signature on it?" Neal replied. "I mean… **allegedly** … have a stamp with his signature on it?"

"Neal, don't make me second guess this decision," Peter said. "Wait, how did you know he had a stamp?"

"Office rumor?"

"Not even close," Peter deadpanned. "Regardless of how you know, I don't want a copy of my signature floating around, and you're the only one who can produce believable copy. Can you take care of this for me while I'm out?"

"Yeah, I'll take care of it. No funny business, scout's honor."

"Good," Peter said as he locked the drawers to his desk. Neal knew he could easily pick the locks and that Peter knew that as well, but he didn't typically lock his desk. The only thing that would cause him to do that today would be their guests from DC.

He stared off into space for a few moments with a thought that he couldn't shake.

Something about those two younger agents was off. They weren't old enough to have any extensive experience with anything, and sending them to help on a simple art theft case made sense in a way, but still...

"What is it?"

"Peter, why are they really here?" Neal said, then shook his head. "They're not here for the Murray case. They can't be, it's a simple art theft, and I already told you who did it. Catching her from there is simple. We don't need their help."

"I thought the same thing," Peter replied, placing the top end of the pen on his chin. "Maybe Bancroft will tell me something when I see him in private."

"Could they be here for-"

Peter held up a finger and shook his head sharply.

"Not here," Peter said. "Sign these while I'm gone and when you leave, lock my office. Make sure our visitors have what they need and that they're properly **paid attention** to. Keep this between us."

"You got it, boss," Neal replied, nodding once. He was all too familiar with playing this game. Be courteous and helpful, but watch them like Peter watches baseball.

_Spy on the spies._

###

This wasn't the first time in his FBI career Peter felt like he had been called to the principal's office. He sat still in the brown leather guest chair in front of Special Agent in Charge Kyle Bancroft's large wooden desk. The older black man sat in his high back leather chair, finger hooked over his chin in deep thought. It wasn't that Peter hadn't been in his office before; that was far from the case.

But this time was different, but then again, so many things felt different lately.

Neal had raised a valid question earlier, but it was one that was already on his mind.

_Why are they really here?_

The last week had been stressful, and he had been helpless. The message on the pager, the meeting in the park that never happened, then the FBI meeting on Friday, the Leland case being a suspicious dead end; it felt like it was all piling upon him at once, and there wasn't anything he could do to stop it.

An American flag stood stoically on a short pole in the left corner of the room next to the floor-to-ceiling window. Snowfall had been increasing all day and was beginning to stick to the glass in a few places. Bleak gray clouds loomed in the distance, moving steadily across the sky.

Inside the office, government symbols, awards, books, and miscellaneous memorabilia all had their places. None of it had the same meaning that it had to him when he was a newly minted agent out of Quantico. An office like this was no longer part of his destiny. The room didn't feel good or honorable or fair. It just felt heavy, and the man behind the desk was bearing all the weight.

"Why are they really here, sir?" Peter asked his superior. "They can't be here for the Murray case."

"You knew the answer to that before you asked, Peter," Bancroft said quietly, eyes still staring off into an unseen distance. He suddenly set his eyes straight on Peter's while the rest of him remained stone still. "The meeting we had last Friday morning was just the beginning. They're here for the **leak** … and they're saying it's in our division. You know who they think it is."

"You don't think it's-"

"I don't want to think it's anyone in our office," Bancroft sighed, closing his eyes. "My first instinct as an agent says it's Neal, but that's all it is: decades of instinct and indoctrination. Statistically, it's almost impossible for it not to be him. Everything I've been taught says it's him. But I don't believe it is and I told them that. He's gone above and beyond what's expected of him, he's saved lives. The case files should speak for themselves."

"But..?"

"But they say that just puts him in a better position to acquire information; they said it just builds trust," the older man said. "I went to that art show with him that one time and I've dealt with him very little since then, but I'm not stupid. Neal Caffrey can be charming, childish, deceptive, lovable, and sneaky...but I spoke with Reese Hughes over the weekend, and he agrees. It's not him."

Bancroft smiled, then chuckled a bit. Peter tilted his head in confusion.

"What?"

"I asked Reese why he's so sure it isn't Neal," Bancroft said. "He said the last thing he told Caffrey before he left white collar was 'take care of Peter.'"

"He did?"

"That's not something Reese would have told someone he didn't trust," Bancroft said. "Hughes is a hardass, crusty old man that didn't trust Neal at first, but… he said that the kid may not always do the legal thing or follow protocol, but his heart's in the right place. If he trusts Caffrey with your safety, that says enough for me."

"He trusts me, I trust him," Peter said. "He's not the leak. And it's not Diana or Jones."

Peter suddenly noticed that his boss hadn't taken his gaze off of him while he was speaking. He fought with himself to remain still in his seat as the man's eyes were surely boring a tunnel through his soul. Being still was difficult, but he managed it… until he swallowed.

"Is it **you** , Peter?"

Peter remained still in his seat, but his demeanor switched to fury.

"That's absurd," Peter replied, his jaw twitching in controlled anger. "I would never-"

"Calm down, I don't believe it's you, either, but it's my job to ask," Bancroft explained. "I don't believe it's any of you. There's no evidence I've seen to suggest any particular person in this division."

Bancroft stood up and walked to the window with his hands clasped behind his back, then took a deep breath and exhaled it all through his nose. He turned to look back at Peter.

"But I'm afraid they're just going to pick someone if they don't figure it out soon. And Neal would make a perfect scapegoat."

"They can't-"

"They can and they will," Bancroft interrupted quickly, pointing a finger at Peter before he started pacing slowly in front of the window. "You should understand that already. You've been his handler long enough; you know that unless we figure out who else it could be, they're going to rake him over the coals and throw him out with the trash."

Peter knew it was true. Whenever anyone wanted to pin any kind of trouble on someone in their division, Neal had always been the easiest target. He was a weak point and a strong point at the same time. Yet again, an asset to be used how the Bureau saw fit. And an information leak in the FBI? High conviction rate or none, Bancroft was right. They would make him the whipping boy for someone else's crime.

Bancroft stopped pacing and gazed upon the falling snow, his hands hanging down by his side.

"How sure are **you** that it's not Neal? It's one thing for Reese to say it and for me to say it, but you know him better than anyone ever has, even his own father. What say you?"

"If it's Neal, you'll have my resignation, and I'll forfeit my pension," Peter replied evenly. "I wouldn't have said that the day I pulled him out of prison, but I can say it with full confidence today. It's **not** him."

"All right," Bancroft said, nodding at Peter's assertion but never looking back at him. "Figure out who this is; we don't have much time. Tell Neal what's going on if you have to. Off the record, of course. I'll stall DC as long as I can."

"I'll do what it takes," Peter said, standing up from the chair. He was about to step away when his boss spoke again.

"Wait," Bancroft said, his voice barely audible. Peter stopped mid-step and lowered his foot back to the floor.

"Sir?"

"How far will you go, Peter?" the man asked quietly, still watching the snowfall outside the window. The wind was beginning to stir the flurries around, knocking them against the glass faster and harder.

"Sir..?"

"How far are you willing to go to make this go away?"

Peter sat back down.

###

Neal waited patiently for Peter to get back from his meeting with Bancroft. He had brought the Murray case files to the conference room and set the two DC agents to work from there while he worked from his office. The paperwork Peter had asked him to go through had taken longer than he expected because his instincts on what Peter would sign had failed him.

It was everything from expense reports, purchase authorizations, 302 case requests, wiretap requests, forms for the consent to wear a wire, waivers, and more. There were so many he just wasn't sure about. If this was going to be something he had to do regularly, Peter was going to have to teach him what deserved his signature and what didn't.

He couldn't help but think about the pile of paper he had left on Peter's desk that he had designated as "uncertain." It would look like he hadn't done anything while his partner had been gone, but the truth was that he had read every word on every form on that desk. He hadn't wanted to fail at this responsibility, but he felt that he had.

He glanced out into the bullpen at Diana coming up the steps to his office. She didn't bother to knock before she entered, but that was fine with him. The intent of giving him the office was to make him feel closer to Peter's equal, but he wasn't going to abuse it with his friends. He was still officially just a CI.

"Hey, Neal. Where's Peter?" she asked after she shut the door. The dark gray pantsuit and maroon blouse she wore was typical for her in the office, and her long hair neatly framed her face well.

"He had a meeting with Bancroft," Neal said. "I'm waiting on him to get back. What do you need?"

"Jones said we had visitors from DC," Diana said, sticking her thumb out toward the conference room. "I haven't met them yet. Figured I'd get your take before I do, so I know what I'm up against."

"They're junior agents that don't share your or Peter's appreciation of me," Neal said, grinning. "They're a little miffed about me having the office."

Diana laughed.

"They're not the only ones," she said. "But most of the younger agents and probies here get it. I think Jones likes the pay raise instead of the office, anyway. He gets the title and a raise, you get the office and some of the responsibility that goes with it. And the newbies that filter in get you to show them the ropes instead of him. Win-win."

"Yeah, I have fun with the new kids," Neal said. "I steal their wallet on their first day to break the ice."

Diana raised an eyebrow.

"Does Peter kno-"

"He does," Neal said smoothly. "As long as I give it back with the contents intact immediately after, it's no more than an office prank and a test of how well they're paying attention. I actually had one ask me to teach him how to do it, but Peter said no."

"Uh-huh," Diana replied, then smirked and nodded toward the conference room. "Lift the visitors' yet?"

"Not sure if Peter would want me stealing from our esteemed guests," Neal said. "Even as a prank."

Of course, he had already considered it. Given the circumstances, he could hear himself making the argument to Peter that he should definitely lift their wallets because it might give them more information about them.

But he could also hear Peter arguing back in his head that doing that could get them both in trouble if he got caught. The DC guys may not look at it as a harmless prank; Peter wasn't their boss and might not be able to smooth it over.

"Is there something I need to know?" Diana asked, placing her hand on her hip.

Neal hesitated. Diana was no fool, and even though he trusted her, Peter was clear he didn't want anyone else involved. Still… maybe it wasn't a bad idea to clue her in.

"Not yet," Neal said, glancing out into the bullpen. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep that between you and me."

"Something going on?"

"Can't say," Neal replied. "And that's **all** I'll say."

He absorbed Diana's suspicious look like it was nothing. He wasn't comfortable telling her everything, but acting like nothing was going on was more difficult than it had been in the past. Telling her "no" would have been a lie, and he was beginning to gather a small collection of people he didn't want to lie to.

He was going against Peter's wishes not to bring anyone else into things, but someone besides them needed to know something was amiss. He couldn't give her any details; that would be too far out of bounds in terms of his new agreement with Peter. But, he could insinuate things.

"Caffrey, if you're screwing with me…"

"I'm not," he replied. "No games, no cons." He nodded his head towards the conference room, hoping she would catch the implication.

"They're from DC for the Murray case," Neal said. "You know them?"

"No, but they're juniors, so I probably wouldn't," she said. "But I could poke around back in DC and find out."

Neal nodded.

"Listen, I'm going out on a limb telling you anything, but come tell me what you find, not Peter," Neal replied. "He doesn't want anyone else involved, but… those two already don't like me, and if I'm watching them too closely, they won't do shit."

"I hope your little ass trusts me by now," Diana said as she smiled and pointed a finger at him. "I've covered for you enough in the past."

"It's not unappreciated, you know," Neal said. "I've been trying to be good recently."

"I've noticed," Diana replied. "And so has Jones. Part of why he doesn't mind the office thing."

Neal couldn't help but grin.

"Thanks," he said. "I have to admit it's starting to feel like staying was a good decision."

"Oh, it was," Diana said. "You don't want Peter chasing you mad, let me tell you."

"I'm very certain that I don't," Neal said. At the reminder of what angry Peter looks like, he regretted telling Diana anything. It was outside the bounds of his agreement Peter, no matter how much he tried to justify it. Old habits die hard, but he was going to have to force himself to establish boundaries if this was going to work.

He glanced back out into the bullpen and saw the two visiting agents from DC walk into the record shelves. Neal took his feet off the desk and sat up in his chair.

"What are they doing in records?"

Diana looked behind her but saw nothing. She turned to Neal again and discreetly pointed back through the glass.

"They went into the record shelves?"

"Yeah, I just saw them," Neal said. "I gave them everything they needed in the conference room. Anything relevant to that case is in there already."

"I'll go introduce myself and see if I can figure out what they're doing," Diana said, then winked. "They don't know **me** yet."

Neal watched as she left the room and walked briskly down the stairs back into the bullpen. He didn't have to tell Diana what to do, and he loved that about her. They were nowhere close to each other's type, but there was more than enough mutual respect there for them to be good friends. She also shared his immediate suspicions of the visiting agents, or she wouldn't have been so quick to go check it out.

Neal turned his chair around and looked out his office window across the New York City skyline. He loved the view out the window of his apartment, but this? He had had views like this before, but whether the view was from his apartment or his FBI office, this time, it was really his. He hadn't conned his way into June's house, nor had he conned his way into getting the office. He had been accepted into the former and had earned his way into the latter.

They were achievements he would never forget.

New York City had become home.

#####

About an hour later, Peter had returned without fanfare. His phone rang almost immediately when he made it back inside his office, and Neal gave him the space he needed to go over his results with the paperwork until Peter beckoned through the window they shared.

"Hey," Peter said as Neal walked into his office. "You didn't do nearly as bad with this stack of paperwork I left you with as I thought you might. You were accurate on everything you did sign, wrong on a couple of things you didn't, and the stuff in the uncertain pile was just that. Good job."

"Thanks," Neal said, shutting the door behind him, but didn't sit down. "Looks like my instincts on what you'd sign were more on the mark than I thought."

Neal swallowed as discreetly as he could but knew Peter noticed.

"Why do you look guilty? Guilty or not, you never look it," Peter said, leaning back in his chair and putting a pen to his chin.

Neal didn't really feel like telling Peter he had gone against his wishes, but now was as good a time as any. He already kept a surplus of secrets; adding another to the pile wasn't happening today. But he was still going to delay for another minute.

"We caught them in records, Peter," Neal deflected, averting his eyes to the floor.

"You feel guilty about them being in records? Did you find out what they were looking for?"

"No, but… listen…" Neal started, bracing himself to be in trouble. "Diana helped me keep an eye on them while you were gone. She was asking questions-"

He stopped himself mid-omission and restarted.

"I told her something was going on, but I didn't give her any details, I swear," Neal said, holding up his hands in defense. "I know you said keep it between us, but-"

"Neal…" Peter closed his eyes and sighed as he looked down at the floor.

"I know-"

Peter held a hand out to stop him, sat upright, and closed his eyes. He sighed, then stood up.

"We need to talk, c'mon," Peter said as he walked around the desk and grabbed the office door handle.

"I don't like it when you say that."

"I don't like it any more than you do," Peter said. "At least it's not your fault this time."

"You're not mad at me for talking to Diana?"

"I'm not happy about it, but we have bigger fish to fry. Let's go get some coffee and take a drive."

###

The small gray sedan weaved through traffic at a decent clip down the streets of Manhattan until Peter finally spotted a place to park. Pinpricks of snow flew about in the air and settled as tiny specks on the windshield as people nearby filtered in and out of shops, restaurants, and clothing stores.

Peter had insisted on them taking the batteries out of their phones and putting them in the trunk. Calling him "Mozzie" didn't go over too well, but Neal couldn't resist teasing his partner for his recent bout of paranoia.

They had already stopped at Neal's favorite place to get coffee near the FBI headquarters and had acquired two medium-sized white cups with cardboard sleeves around them and two sandwiches. Neal made sure when he went into the coffee shop to grab something he knew Peter would eat. He was determined to make sure that there wasn't a repeat of last week where his friend just hadn't bothered to eat anything.

Elizabeth worked full time, too, now that she had re-opened Burke Events and wasn't with Peter every day like Neal was, so he couldn't blame her for her partner's lack of sustenance. He came out of the shop with their coffee and a bag containing a large sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit for Peter and an everything bagel breakfast sandwich for himself.

He had realized years ago that Peter was a man who had simple tastes in most things but could be unexpectedly sophisticated at times. Neal enjoyed showing him the finer things in life, but Peter never ceased to surprise him with the things he already knew about them. The man could just as easily eat from McDonald's as he could a high-end steakhouse, and shockingly often, he preferred the McDonald's. Neal still didn't understand why. Why the two-dollar cheeseburger when you could have a 60-day dry-aged steak?

They sat quietly parked on the street and ate their sandwiches without saying much. Their silences had become more comfortable the past few months, but there were still things Neal wanted to talk to Peter about, and he couldn't figure out how to bring them up. There were days that they reminisced about their early cases together, and as they talked, the conversations became bittersweet due to old secrets kept close to his chest. They were supposed to be on the same page now practicing their new normal, but the past kept showing up in unexpected ways.

They were currently parked outside of the opera house where Curtis Hagan had conned him into stealing two million dollars in gold coins. There were many and varied locations like this around New York that stirred up bad memories and things unresolved. Perhaps Peter had picked up on the fact that certain locations bothered him, because he never parked at those places again after the first time. If he knew, he never asked, and Neal was grateful for it.

None of them were conversations he was ready to have yet. He had rehearsed those talks with Peter in his head many nights before he went to sleep; he had yet to find a combination of explanation and apology that ended well in his dreams. Most of the time, he was fine, but every once in a while, it took something stronger than wine to put him back to sleep.

He never regretted being able to get Peter out of prison, despite what he had to do to make it happen, and he would never tell him otherwise. He would never regret the result of his actions. But as he gazed out the passenger side window at the building, he desperately wished that he had found another way.

"I talked to Bancroft," Peter said, rolling up his sandwich wrapper and tossing it back into the bag. "Remember the meeting I went to last Friday morning?"

"You mean right before I kidnapped you for the weekend?" Neal said, snapping out of his mood and putting on a grin. He turned sideways in his seat and sipped the coffee in his hand.

"You didn't kidnap me," Peter said, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of his own.

"Elizabeth said I was kidnapping you," Neal replied.

"Which is why you implied to me that it was her idea," Peter said, pointing at him. "I knew what you were up to."

"Anyway, why can't we talk in the office?"

"Because I don't know who may be listening," Peter said. "I don't want to talk in the office about anything detailed with this right now. That's why I wanted you to keep it between us."

"You think the office is bugged? I checked your office after you went to that meeting Friday," Neal said. "I had more than enough time to go over everything in there, and it was clean."

"I don't know that it is, but better safe than sorry," Peter said.

"Does Moz need to sweep your house again?"

"No, I'm not talking about anything there, either; if it is bugged, I don't want them to know that I know."

"Is that why we're in Jones' car?"

"Yep," Peter said. "Jones' car is older and doesn't have cell phone capabilities or roadside assistance built in. See why I said leave other people out of it?"

"Look at you, dodging the man," Neal said. "It almost brings a tear to my eye."

Peter shook his head, rolled his eyes, and sighed.

"Anyway, the meeting Friday was with the SACs and ASACs of the other departments," Peter said. "Higher-ups are saying there's an information leak in the New York FBI office. When I talked to Bancroft earlier, he said they've narrowed it down to our division."

"And they want to pin it on me," Neal said, frustrated with the obvious conclusion. He placed a palm firmly on his forehead. "I can't believe this shi-"

"Listen to me," Peter said, holding up a hand to deter Neal's anger.

"Peter, I am tired-"

"Give me one minute," Peter said. "And if you're not satisfied with what I have to say, I'll unlock your anklet and let you out right here."

Neal tilted his head in suspicion towards his partner. That wasn't something Peter would joke about. It was tempting, but Peter knew he wouldn't leave after hearing him out or he wouldn't have made him the offer.

"All right," Neal said and sat back in his seat against the door, coffee in hand. He was angry, but he had made up his mind he wasn't going anywhere unless it was unavoidable. He eyed his gray fedora on the dashboard as he listened.

"When I talked to Bancroft... he asked me how far I was willing to go to make this go away."

"Did he ask for a bribe or something?" Neal said. "That doesn't sound like him."

"No, I don't think he was trying to bribe me," Peter said. "He told me he was afraid that the higher-ups were just going to pick someone to pin the leak on if we didn't figure it out soon, and he knows who they'll pick. When I went to leave, he asked how far I would go to stop that from happening."

"What did you tell him?"

"As far as I have to," Peter said, looking down at his coffee cup. Steam curled out of the vent hole, wafting around as his breath glided through it. "I'm not letting them put you in prison for something you didn't do. Not when I can stop it."

"I can't keep letting you cover for me-"

"There's nothing to cover for if you've done nothing wrong and you haven't," Peter said. "Not even Bancroft believes it's you."

Neal slumped back into the seat. He was tired of the back and forth with him being a valuable asset one minute and a liability the next. But Peter was right. He hadn't done a single thing wrong this time.

"What about the section chief?"

"Bruce was at the meeting, but I didn't have a chance to talk to him," Peter said. "I'm wondering if he purposefully avoided me that day. He's never done that before, though. Maybe he's getting pressure, I don't know."

Neal didn't like where any of this conversation was going. It smacked of more danger than he was willing to let his handler be in alone. He had been willing to let Peter have some secrets recently, especially since he still had some of his own, but he had a feeling that whatever Peter was keeping from him was going to get him hurt. And that was going to be a deal-breaker if he didn't come clean soon.

"What did he ask you to do, Peter?"

"I was given a choice. He said they told him that they'd forget about the leak if I'd step down as ASAC and you went back to prison to finish out your sentence with no additional charges," Peter said. "Or-"

Neal quickly leaned forward toward Peter. "Step down? You can't-"

"I chose option B," Peter said, then took a long drink of his coffee. Neal leaned back in the seat at the statement.

"So, what's option B?"

"I get my orders within the week," Peter said. "When those orders come in, Neal, they're going to take me."

Neal tilted his head in alarm. "Take you? Take you **where**?"

"I don't know yet. Until those orders come in, I'm officially on call," Peter said. "I also asked Bancroft about our visitors. He said they're here to investigate the leak."

Neal noticed that he had quickly changed the subject, but decided to go along with it.

"If they're here to investigate the leak, why were they in the records?"

"They were in records because they're not looking for a leak."

"What? You just said that Bancroft-"

"I think he was lied to," Peter said, sipping his coffee again. "There is no leak."

"Okay… why not?"

"I think they're here for the Leland case," Peter said. "If they were in records, it's highly likely that's what they're looking for. They wanna see the case files and know what we know about it."

"And you took the files home because you suspected something already," Neal stated.

"Which is why I need you to send Mozzie to go pick them up," Peter said. "I don't want them getting those files, and I can't go get them myself because I need to be visible, and so do you. Mozzie's careful to the point of excess; he'll be hard for anyone to catch onto and hard to follow even if they do."

"Okay," Neal said and started digging in his pocket for his phone when he remembered that they were in the trunk.

"No phones, remember?" Peter said. He reached into his interior jacket pocket and pulled out a small USB key. He handed it to Neal. "Unlock your anklet, find a store or a restaurant to go into, slip out the back, and find a phone. Get in touch with Moz and get him to retrieve those case files before someone comes looking for them. Come back here as soon as you get in touch with him. I'll wait on you."

"You're sending me off anklet," Neal said. Peter nodded.

"Yes, I am," he replied. "When you leave, I'll get the phones out of the trunk. They're going to call me in the next 10 minutes and ask if you're with me. I'm going to say yes and tell them that I had to take the anklet off for you to go talk to a suspect and that I didn't have time to call it in first. I have a little more pull than I used to because of my position, and they'll bitch about it, but they'll give me about 45 minutes before you have to be back here with it on."

Neal stared at Peter in disbelief. He held the literal key to his freedom in his hands with a purposefully built-in cover story. Too bad he had no intention of using it.

Peter smiled. "Don't overthink it."

"Am I becoming that predictable? I'm gonna have to shake things up here soon," Neal said.

"Don't push it; you've already given me high blood pressure," Peter said, wagging a finger at him. "What did you tell Diana?"

"Just that there was something going on and the new kids already didn't like me, so I couldn't keep too close of an eye on them without them getting suspicious," Neal said. "Look-"

"That wasn't a bad idea in hindsight," Peter replied. "But nobody else, all right? I don't know how deep this is about to get, and I don't want to risk anyone else. It's not that I don't trust her or Jones, but they need plausible deniability. Someone with some serious pull is extremely interested in that case-"

"You were interested enough yourself to take the files home," Neal stated. "There's something you're not telling me, Peter, and it's sharing time. I need to know more here. Specifically, I need to know if you're in danger."

Their eyes met for a few moments, blue furiously studying brown for any hint of deception in the next words that were spoken. Neal breathed a sigh of relief when he realized it wasn't necessary.

"Yes," Peter said quietly. "That case, my contact not showing up, now these two agents, Bancroft making the offer to make a fake leak all go away… none of this is a coincidence. And I'm not liking what this is adding up to."

"You mean, if there's no leak, why did they make you that offer?" Neal said.

"Neal, I was supposed to meet someone under a Brooklyn park tunnel at midnight because of information I got from a pager," Peter said quietly, his eyes tunneling a hole through the faux black leather steering wheel. "What does that look like to you?"

Neal dropped his mouth open slightly with a gasp. He leaned up against the car door and placed his hand lightly over his mouth.

"A **leak** … oh, son of a bitch..."

"They had me as soon as I showed up for that meeting," Peter chuckled with a wry smile as he looked up at the ceiling. He dropped his head and looked blankly back at the steering wheel. "The cop that was there was making sure I was on record as being seen there. I showed him my badge; they ran my license plate... Even if I had told them to go ahead and pin it on you, even if I had told them I'd step down as ASAC and you could go back to prison, they had evidence that implicates me as a backup to get me to do what they really want me to do if I refused."

"So your contact set you up?"

"No," Peter said, his tone definitive. "I'm worried about him."

"Who is he, Peter?" Neal asked. "I know you said he's someone you know, but you're dancing around the issue."

"An old friend I keep in touch with," Peter said. "He used to be FBI, but… he went somewhere I couldn't follow. The last message he sent me was a warning; it's the only thing it could have been."

"What do you mean you couldn't follow?"

"He went to work in intelligence about eight months after Quantico. He's kept in touch with me on a limited basis since."

"Why the secrecy if he's just an old friend?" Neal asked.

"I ask him for information sometimes," Peter said. "Sometimes he can tell me what I want to know about, sometimes he can't. But he's never gone out of his way to give me information I didn't ask for. Not until now."

Neal nodded and took a moment to consider this new information. Peter was right; the more he heard, the less he liked their circumstances.

"You're in better spirits than you should be considering all this," Neal said, studying his partner for a moment. "Why?"

"It is what it is, and there's nothing I can do to change it now. There's no sense in wallowing," Peter said. "I have to follow this path wherever it takes me. Choosing the assignment may not have changed my outcome, but it changed yours. The only difference in the choices was whether you were put back in prison or not. You do the right thing…"

"... and you let the chips fall where they fall," Neal recited as he closed his eyes and nodded.

"Get in touch with Moz and meet me back here," Peter said, looking out the driver's side window and into the side view mirror. "You can fill him in on everything later, but do it carefully."

Peter dug back into his interior pocket again and produced a broken pager with no battery. He dropped it into Neal's outstretched hand. "And get rid of this for me."

"You're sure he's not gonna contact you with it again?" Neal said, quickly placing it into his inside pocket. He reached down and unlocked his anklet, then dropped the key back into Peter's hand.

"It's been days; if he were going to contact me on this again, he would have done it already. He's gone. Maybe dead, I don't know."

Neal picked up the fedora on the dashboard and popped it back down on his head. He then lifted the door handle and partially pushed the door open. Placing one foot out on the ground, he looked back over his shoulder.

"You know I'm not leaving, right?" Neal said. "I'll be back as soon as I talk to Moz."

"I know," Peter replied.

"Promise me one thing, though."

"What?"

"That we're in this together," Neal said. "No matter where this leads, I'm with you. We're partners."

"We're in this together. I promise. Partners."

"Then, I'll be back," Neal said, then climbed out and shut the door. He trotted across the street back toward shops, zigzagging around people after he bounced up onto the sidewalk.

In the car, Peter's eyes followed Neal as he made it across the street and disappeared into the crowd. As soon as he was out of sight, Peter placed his forehead on the steering wheel.

_What did I just do?_


	5. Guilty Consciences

It didn't take Neal long to find a convenience store that carried basic flip phones and the twenty-dollar cards to activate them. With only 45 minutes to buy the phone, set it up, and get a message to Mozzie, he would be cutting it close if something went wrong. 

He pulled forty dollars in cash out of his wallet and handed it to the elderly cashier. Her blonde and gray-streaked bouffant hair stood out against her azure blouse as she looked across the bridge of her glasses at him. 

_ Please don't start talking… _

"You know that phone is shit, right? The thirty-dollar one is better, but I’ll sell it to you for twenty," she said, pointing at the more expensive phones on the shelf behind her. 

"Thanks, but I just need this one," Neal said, continuing to hold the money out toward her. 

She shrugged her shoulders and took the cash from him, then placed the phone and card in a crumpled brown plastic bag. The drawer of the cash register opened with the sound of a bell, and a look of surprise came over her face. 

"Dammit, I'm out of ones… I'll be right back."

Neal watched as she closed the drawer and walked with the money to the back room, leaving his bag on the counter. As soon as the door shut behind her, he grabbed the bag and was out the door. No time to argue with her, and he wasn't stealing, so he was clear. 

He headed down the sidewalk, bag in hand, toward the nearest hotel. It wasn't hard to make it to the lobby bathroom and begin dismantling the phone packaging. The silver coating hiding the activation code on the card was scratched off easily. He placed it on the restroom counter. 

He went through the phone activation process quickly and waited a few moments to be assigned his new number. In the meantime, he recalled Mozzie's newest burner phone number. That was the only thing he hated about Mozzie's phone habits. He changed devices regularly and fully expected Neal to memorize his new number every time he changed it, whether it was after a week of use or a month. 

It was hard keeping up with Mozzie’s odd requests, but Neal could never get past the idea that the guy legitimately cared about him, despite his complete dedication to the identity of a conman. 

“County morgue, you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em.”

Neal pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled in the empty hotel lobby bathroom. The only thing predictable about Mozzie was that he was unpredictable, all the way down to the way he answered the phone.

"Hey, Moz," he said. "I need you to do something for me, and I need it done as quickly as possible."

"What do you need?" 

“I need you to go to Peter’s house and retrieve some case files he has there,” Neal said, looking toward the bathroom entrance door. “Take them and hide them. Someone’s poking around looking for them, and we don’t want them found.”

“That’s that money laundering case, isn’t it?” Mozzie’s voice came over the phone. “I told you that case was a lava potato--”

“I know, Moz, I know,” Neal said. “I should’ve listened to you on that, okay?”

“Those files are better off destroyed,” Mozzie said. “If those files are bad news, there’s no reason to keep them intact.”

“Peter said pick them up; he didn’t say do anything else with them, Moz,” Neal said. He braced himself for the response he knew was coming.

“You know I don’t take orders from the suit."

“I do, but I don’t know if we may need these for some reason later, and you’re the master at hiding things,” Neal said. “If there’s anyone who can store these files safely, it’s you.”

“You’re playing to my ego,” Mozzie said. “But… I’ll allow it. I hope you’re prepared to go on a treasure hunt to get them back.”

“Mozzie--”

“You want me to hide them, I do it my way,” Mozzie said. “This is secure, this is safe, this makes me fuzzy inside. Deal?”

“All right, deal,” Neal sighed. 

He had no idea what Peter would say to this, but doing it this way was best, and if the files remained intact, maybe he wouldn’t be too upset about it. He couldn’t tell Mozzie he was the best and then not let him do it his way. Explained like that, Peter would have to understand. 

“I’ll fill you in on everything tonight,” Neal said. “Not my place, one of yours, where I know it’s secure.”

“I’ll have the files within the hour,” Mozzie said. “Be at August at 6 p.m. You have the new address.”

"I'll be there; this number's toast." 

###

Peter Burke paced next to a bench at Brooklyn Bridge Park Pier, a cold late afternoon wind steadily coming down from the north. His wife stood a few feet away next to the fence with her back to the water, her arms crossed and her face sour. 

“Hon, I know you don’t like it, but what choice do I have?” Peter said, holding his hands out from his body. 

“Oh, I don’t know what choice you have because you won’t tell me anything!” Elizabeth said, leaning her whole body toward him as the wind picked up the bottom of her coat. “The only other time you shut me out like this, I walked into a hostage situation that had you in the middle of it!”

“They’re sending me undercover over the next week,” Peter said. “I can’t tell you anything else because I don’t know anything else, honey. If I didn’t take this, they were going to put him back in prison on charges for something I know for a fact he didn’t do. You know I can’t allow that.”

“I know, I know,” Elizabeth said, pacing in defeat. She halted and hung her head. “He did what he had to do to get you out, and now you have to do what you have to do to keep him out. Honey, I love Neal, you know I do, and I don’t ever want anything to happen to him, but when is this all going to stop?”

“It’s not his fault, El,” Peter said. “He hasn’t done anything wrong… this whole thing originates from me, not him.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth took a few steps toward him, closing the distance until they were no more than an arm's length apart. 

“They want me... and they’re using him as leverage to get to me. His hands are completely clean in this.”

“Who wants you?”

“Somebody upstairs is pulling strings,” Peter said. “They want me for an assignment, and they made up false accusations against him to get me to do it. Whatever it is, they know I would have said no, or they wouldn’t have bothered.”

“I don’t know how much more of this I can do, Peter,” Elizabeth said, taking another step forward and laying her head on his chest. “It seems like every time we turn around, something like this is happening now.”

“What do you want me to do? Refuse to do it and let them put him back in prison? With extra charges that will make sure he stays there a lot longer than he should? In a supermax as a snitch? El, if anything were to happen to him--"

“No, hon, I don’t want that,” Elizabeth replied. “I know how much he means to you, and he means a lot to me, too. I’m sorry, I just… I’m tired of wondering if you’re coming home.”

Peter put his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head.

“Everything will be all right,” Peter replied, tightening his grip on her. “I’ll let you know when I get my orders somehow. I’m not just going to disappear.”

“At least tell me that Neal will be with you,” Elizabeth said, burying her face into his shirt. “If I know anything at this point, it's that he’ll look after you.”

“Yeah, he does,” Peter said. He would answer the question if he had to, but dreaded it. 

“Peter Burke, you are avoiding what I said,” Elizabeth said, looking up at him. Her normally bright blue eyes had turned glacial. “Tell me he’ll be with you.”

Peter looked back down at his wife and gently pushed her hair from in front of her eyes. He wondered how long it would be before he would see them again once he was gone. The longer he gazed into them, the more he was pained by the obligation he couldn’t step away from. Not even surrendering his badge and retiring would get him out of this. 

And the last thing he was going to promise her would be a lie.

"He'll be with me,” he said, then pulled her back in close and rested his chin on her head once more. "We can't talk about this again, hon. I can't talk to Neal about it again, either. Not until it happens."

~~~

The address couldn’t be right. 

This was an apartment building on 112th street in Manhattan, just a few blocks from June’s house. 

He entered the code into the keypad next to the door and heard it unlatch. He backed into the door to open it while carrying a bag of Chinese takeout, then he bounded up the stairs off to the right up to the second floor. He was about to knock on the red door labeled as eleven, but it came open as soon as he stood still in front of it. 

Mozzie bowed and beckoned him inside with a sweeping hand motion. His light pink dress shirt stood out from his black rimmed glasses, even in the dim light coming from within the apartment. 

“This isn’t your normal kind of hiding place, Moz,” Neal said as he entered and his friend shut the heavy wooden door behind him. “You usually hang out in sewers, abandoned lofts, and storage units.”

Low light from a candelabra placed off-center of an antique dining table danced around the walls of the small studio apartment. It was sparsely populated with the table, a pull-out sofa, and a large TV on an entertainment center. An empty built-in white bookshelf adorned the wall across from the entry door. 

“Hey, I can do normal if it fits my stringent criteria,” Mozzie said as they walked to the dining table. “I’ve decided to spoil myself with an actual apartment recently.”

“You’re paying rent? Really?” Neal asked as he placed the bag on the table. He removed the takeout containers from it and lined them up neatly in a row. 

“Heresy!” Mozzie said. “The landlord simply wanted my expertise in setting up a poker room in the basement of another apartment building across town. I’m providing my services and contacts necessary to populate it with the appropriate amount of stooges.”

“So you bartered,” Neal said. 

“I get three percent of the take, the place is free, it’s in your radius, and it’s not tied to any of my identities or yours,” Mozzie said, beaming at his accomplishment. He held up a finger and pointed at the dining table. “You’ve brought the sustenance, I’ve provided the 1990 Bordeaux.”

After the table was set with paper plates, red-sleeved takeout chopsticks, and two tall glasses of wine, they sat down and started filling their plates. Open containers of broccoli beef, lo mein noodles, green beans, and even coconut shrimp decorated the table as they sat and talked about the events of the past week with Peter and Neal lent his experience on backroom gambling setups. 

“I have to help him, Moz,” Neal said when his plate was empty. “They could have sent me back to prison, and Peter chose the worse option, but it was the only one that kept me out.”

“That may be true, but I’d just say you’re even now,” Mozzie responded. “You got him out of prison, and he threw a fit when he found out how you did it. You’re square.”

“He still doesn’t know the whole story--”

“And he never should,” Mozzie said. “You tell him the whole story about you working with Hagen, and I’ll just make sure you have a nice welcome mat for your new prison cell. Destruction of evidence, stealing the rose window, impersonating a federal officer, and everything involved with it? You really think he’s going to overlook all that? He couldn’t even overlook a simple sum of two million dollars in gold coins that you traded for his freedom!”

“He didn’t put me back in prison over the coins, and he won’t over the other stuff if I tell him the truth.”

“You’re lying to yourself, and you know it,” Mozzie said. “He nearly did put you back in prison over those coins. He’s a lawman, and you’re a con. The suit’s behavior after you graciously freed him from the bonds of his own beloved machine vindicated me on that.”

“He was angry for multiple reasons, and yeah, he overreacted,” Neal said. "But we've made peace over the coins."

“You’re rationalizing,” Mozzie commented. “He had no right to be angry in the first place.”

"'Do not build a castle around one act of kindness; do not build an empire around one act of cruelty,'" Neal quoted. Neal still wasn’t able to keep up with Mozzie in terms of quotes, but he had been saving that one for just this occasion. 

"Who said that?" 

"I read it in a book once, but it's true," Neal replied. "Look, Moz, I'm not going to hold it over his head forever. We've forgiven each other."

"You're missing the point; you did nothing to be forgiven for."

"I've done a lot that he could forgive me for that he doesn’t know about."

Neal didn't believe he was wrong for the single act of stealing the coins. But he still wrestled with whether making his deal with the devil had been wrong as a whole. To steal two million dollars to help a friend in dire need was one thing, but it had turned into something much worse, and that was what he took issue with.

If he hadn't made the deal, Hagen would still be in custody. Maybe Agent Siegel would still be alive. Unlikely, since Siegel was killed by Rachel before Peter discovered the truth about the coins, but a not-so-small part of Neal refused to let go of the idea he was responsible somehow. It made no sense, but it nagged at his soul some days more than others. 

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again until you hear me,” Mozzie said, using his chopsticks to pick up the last piece of of chicken from his plate. “You’re too involved.”

“You just went to a movie with Elizabeth last week,” Neal said. “You also babysit Theo for Diana. I’m not the only one ‘involved.”

“Elizabeth is delightful company, there’s no denying that,” Mozzie said. “And it’s equally pleasurable to be around my namesake. But that hasn’t stopped me from making plans to blow this pop stand as soon as I have you on board with the idea.”

“I like New York, Moz,” Neal said softly, leaning against the back of his chair. 

This conversation again? He had hoped against hope that Mozzie had been warming up to the idea that he was going to stay in New York at least until his sentence was over. After everything the past week, this wasn't what he needed tonight. 

“You also like Paris, and we haven’t been there in a long time,” Mozzie reminded him as he pointed toward Neal’s ankle beneath the table, “because of your disability.” 

“I do like Paris,” Neal replied. He shook his head. “But, it’s not New York. And I’m not ready to leave.”

“I think you’ve been cooped up here too long,” Mozzie said. “I mean, you’ve had a desk job with the enemy so long they’re kissing your ass with a glass-walled office that comes with a city view.”

“I earned that office,” Neal said sharply, cutting his eyes across the table. 

“That office is tokenism,” Mozzie said, rolling his eyes. “You know CIs don’t get offices like that under normal circumstances.”

“Are you saying I’m normal? Because I’ve done outstanding work there,” Neal said, leaning forward over the table. “I  **_earned_ ** that--”

“You’re incapable of earning that office because you’re not an agent, and you never will be!” Mozzie said. 

Across the dining table, Neal took the blow gracefully and simply collapsed softly back in his chair. He stared in disbelief at his old friend, then looked away to the floor as he clenched his jaw shut. 

Mozzie placed his glasses on the table and put a hand over his face, leaning forward with his elbow on the table. Neal glanced over at the man’s instant act of remorse, but the damage was done.

“‘All cruel people describe themselves as paragons of frankness.’ Tennessee Williams,” he recited. “Neal, I’m sorry--”

“Go ahead and say what you really want to say, Moz,” Neal said as he leveled his eyes at the man across the table. “Go ahead! Tell me that you want me to abandon someone I care about when they need me because it makes my life easier.”

“That’s not fair--”

“It is fair,” Neal said. “It’s absolutely fair to say that because that’s exactly what you’re asking me to do. That’s the outcome. If I leave right now--”

“You’re always going to have some reason you can’t leave, Neal!” Mozzie said, putting his glasses back on. 

“So what if I do?! This is my life--”

“You care about them too much--”

“Maybe I care about you too much, did you ever think of that?!” Neal replied, glaring at him and shoving his chair away from the table. 

Mozzie blinked and sat back in his chair in stunned silence as Neal stood up and started pacing. 

“You consider attachments to people to be dangerous, to be liabilities, but have you ever considered that if I start doing what you want me to do that one day, you’ll be a liability to me, too?”

Neal knew his tirade had rendered Mozzie speechless for once, but he didn’t regret it. It was time to air some things out. Maybe he didn’t want to stay in New York forever, but for now, this was his home and he had no intention of leaving until his sentence was up. The constant tugging back and forth between Peter and Mozzie had to end and if Peter could cut him some slack, so could Mozzie.

“Have you even once thought about the fact that I might leave you if you become a problem for me?” Neal said, pointing Mozzie, then at himself. 

Mozzie started to answer, then Neal sliced his hand through the air to cut him off. 

“No, you haven’t, because you know if you need me, I'm always there. And if I’m like that with you, what makes you think I’m going to stop being like that with everyone else I’ve built a life around the last few years?”

“A life you were trapped into--”

“A life I don’t regret one minute of,” Neal said as he took a step towards the entry door, then turned back around. “Except maybe when I didn’t go straight to Peter when you staged the U-boat treasure explosion using my paintings. My paintings for a theft that I didn’t consent to being a part of!”

“I thought you’d be happy! It was the opportunity of a lifetime!”

“I was happy at first... when I was standing in that room surrounded by a billion dollars of art, jewelry, almost anything you could imagine! It meant financial freedom for the rest of our lives, the ability to do whatever we wanted…” Neal said, looking up at the ceiling as he continued to pace. He stopped and turned toward Mozzie again and put his hand over his chest. 

“But that treasure still eats at my insides because of what it almost cost me. It obliterated Peter’s trust in me right after he killed a man to save my life! Adler was half a second from murdering me, and Peter shot him dead! What do you think that felt like? To kill someone, then find out the person you did it for played you? All because he saw a burnt piece of my work that you took without asking because you knew I'd say no!”

Neal watched as Mozzie cast his eyes down at the floor and swallowed, fully convicted by the statement. 

“See, I know you, Moz,” Neal said, pointing a finger at him. “It’s easier to ask me for forgiveness than for permission, right? I could have gone straight to Peter, pointed my finger at you, and I wouldn’t only have been justified in doing it, I could have proven it was you."

Neal was breathing heavily at this point, already mentally tired from the outburst. Mozzie sat perfectly still in his chair, his gaze still locked onto the floorboards. 

Neal walked back to the dining table and stood next to the chair as the silence threatened to smother them both. 

"But I didn't, because you're my friend. You made a billion-dollar mistake, and I recognized that for what it was," Neal said. "That treasure wasn’t worth me having to choose between you and Peter, and I did my best to not have to until Keller took Elizabeth. Then I had no option. Even if you hadn’t come back, I would have been forced to make a deal with him to save her. To clean up the mess  **_you_ ** made.”

“If I thought it would have put her in danger, I wouldn’t have done it, Neal, you know that.”

“I know you didn’t want to hurt anyone, Moz,” Neal replied. “But you did… you hurt me, Peter, Elizabeth… you framed me… do you really understand that? You didn't mean to, but you did… all because you were so mesmerized by a boat full of shiny things you didn’t consider the danger that comes with just having something worth that much. Adler offered me half of it to help him get away right before the explosion, and I told him to go to hell. It wasn't worth the price.”

“I didn’t know you were still this upset with me about it,” Mozzie said bitterly, still refusing to look at him and fidgeting with his hands in his lap. 

“I’m not, Mozzie; you’re missing my point,” Neal said, then took a breath. “What I’m trying to get you to understand is that you made a much bigger mistake than Peter did, and I’m still here eating dinner and drinking wine with you.”

Neal’s eyes pleaded for understanding before they closed, and he shook his head gently. “You send me down the road you’re talking about... the one where I just cut and run when things get too restrictive or too dangerous, and that philosophy will have to apply to everyone, and one day, you’ll be the one I skip out on. I don’t want to be that person.”

He planted his hands firmly as he leaned on the dining table, letting it absorb his weariness. He hung his head, eyes fixed on the tabletop, looking for just a moment of reprieve. He took a deep breath and let it all out through his nose.

“I wouldn’t abandon you if you needed me, Moz,” Neal finally said, still not meeting his friend’s gaze. “Don’t ask me to do it to Peter because he made the much simpler mistake of being angry when he shouldn’t have been. I can’t. I won’t.”

Mozzie sighed in defeat.

“You’re the reason for ‘almost,’” Mozzie said, sinking back into his chair. Neal looked up across the table at him in confusion.

“What?” 

“I told Elizabeth you’re the reason for ‘almost,’” Mozzie stated, as if what he meant should be obvious. When Neal beckoned him with a hand to continue, he rolled his eyes. “Elizabeth was arguing with me over whether she should follow Peter when he had that floozy hanging around the office.”

“You mean Jill?”

“Yeah, the floozy,” Mozzie said. “I told her you can almost never trust people. She said I trust you, and I told her you’re the reason for ‘almost.’”

“I didn’t know you thought that,” Neal replied, smiling at him. 

“You’re a better man than I am,” Mozzie said. 

“I don’t think so,” Neal said. “And I think there’s a little boy that will grow up knowing that’s the truth.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“Because you know I’m right.”

“I know you’re crazy,” Mozzie said. “Okay, so, we’re gonna help the suit… again. What’s the plan here?”

“He said he gets orders within the week,” Neal replied as he sat back down at the table. “I need to be ready to go with him the second he gets them.”

“So he’s taking you with him?”

“He said we were in this together,” Neal said. 

“So he hasn’t explicitly invited you.”

“Doesn’t matter, I'm going,” Neal said. “I need to be ready with cold-weather gear.”

“You already have winter clothes--”

“I need cold-weather gear, not just clothes,” Neal replied. “Stuff suitable for survival, not just walking from warm building to warm building. I know you know my sizes for everything. Any survival items I could use, knife, fire starter, all of that.”

“How do you know you’re going to need all of that?”

“Peter said his contact asked him if he remembered CWIC,” Neal said. “That’s Cold Weather Indoctrination Course. I did some research on it; it’s high-level survival training for cold weather. Military level stuff. If he’s asking Peter if he remembered that, he’s telling him he’s going somewhere cold.”

“I’m not a big fan of cold, but if we’re gonna do this, I’m going to have to go and try some things on first--”

“You’re not going.”

“You’re going to abscond with the suit without me?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it absconding, I’m telling you ahead of time, and you’re even helping me pack,” Neal replied. “But, yes… you’re staying here. I need you to take care of Elizabeth.”

“You think the suit’s going to trust me with the safekeeping of his wife over an extended period of time?”

"Would you hurt Elizabeth?" 

"No!" Mozzie exclaimed and stood up, clearly horrified at the notion. 

"Would you let anything happen to her?" 

"On pain of death!"

“Whatever happens, whenever it happens, Elizabeth’s going to need you around after we’re gone,” Neal said. “I know you’ll make sure she’s safe. I trust you with that. Besides, I think she’s growing on you.”

“Bold of you to assume your suit obsession is contagious,” Mozzie sniffed. 

“What about the baby suit?” Neal said with a playful grin as he rested his chin in a hand with his elbow on the table and watched Mozzie turn red. 

“His name is Theo!”

###

Diana ducked down in the driver's seat of her car until the headlights had passed by. 

She had been in the same basic position multiple times in her car this evening, waiting on something to happen on a lower Manhattan street corner. It was a risk to decide to follow them, especially since they knew who she was, but she had luckily convinced Jones to ride along. 

It was long after she should have been at home with Theo, but she had finally found a Mozzie-approved and vetted babysitter. She wasn't sure why she trusted the paranoid little man's judgment, but she knew he only wanted to protect the baby, so she went with it. Mozzie was still a creep sometimes, but since he delivered her child, he was starting to grow on her.

A few phone calls earlier in the afternoon to friends in DC had proven Neal right. The DC agents weren’t DC agents at all.

"You gonna tell me what we're doing here?" Jones said as he sat back up in the passenger seat. “I rode with you on no info, and we’ve been here for an hour and a half.”

"We’re waiting on those two little bastards to show up," Diana replied, peering out the window. “The ones supposed to be helping with the Murray case.”

"The DC guys?" 

"Yeah, they're not from DC."

"Really?" 

"I made some discreet phone calls to a few friends there," Diana said, lifting her coffee out of the cup holder in the center console and took a drink. "Nobody I know there has heard of or seen either of them. They're nobodies."

"Where’d you get the idea? And does Peter know?" 

"Neal implied to me that he was suspicious of them, but I’m not sure why. He said Peter didn't want anyone else involved, but he told me, anyway."

"You trust him?” Jones said. 

"I’m starting to," Diana said. “I think he's trying to do better. But he also knows damn well if I think he’s lying, I’ll go straight to Peter, and at this point, that’s his ass. "

“He breaks the rules, Peter lets him get away with it, he says he'll be good, lather, rinse, repeat, y'know?”

"And I was Peter's probie; I know what a hardass for the rules he can be when you’re working directly under him every day," Diana replied. "Neal's got his faults, but… sometimes the rules are fucked up and don’t let us get things done. He hasn't ever done anything deliberately to hurt anybody here. If you've missed that, you haven't been paying attention."

"I know he's almost cost Peter his career more than once," Jones said. "And Neal is part of the reason he ended up in prison. Deliberate or not, that's what happened."

"Neal didn't shoot Pratt."

"No, his father did, who Peter never would have been involved with otherwise."

"You really blame him for that?" Diana asked, turning towards him. 

"No, I’m not saying that was Caffrey’s fault. I like him, but… some people just attract trouble. Some people’s lives are made up of it. I don't think he’s evil or mean-spirited, but… in a way… he's kinda toxic to be close to."

"It's wrong to just throw away people because trouble finds them when they’re trying to do better," Diana replied sharply. 

"I'm not saying throw him away," Jones replied. "I’d love it if Caffrey would straighten the hell up. I don't mind not having the office if him having it helps Peter out with getting him there. I like working with him, he's smart, he does excellent work. I even think he actually cares about us. But I don't want to be caught up in his collateral damage path. Peter went to prison because he’s too close to him. That's all I'm saying."

"Neal just wanted to know who his father was, and things got messy. I don't blame him for his father being a traitorous bastard."

"Caffrey will be better off when he figures out who his real father is," Jones said, looking out the passenger side window. 

"You mean Peter?" 

"Peter's been acting like his father since he sprang him from prison," Jones said, raising an eyebrow. "If you missed that, you're the one not paying attention."

"You think they realize it?" 

"If they did, they’d never admit it," Jones replied. 

"Look, there they are," Diana said, shrinking back down into her seat. Jones did the same as they watched the two young men enter their view not far down the street. A tall, silver-haired man in a long black trench coat and a red scarf approached them; he stopped just a foot or so short of the two young men just beyond the radius of a street light. 

“Who’s that guy?”

“No clue,” Diana said, stretching her neck carefully to get a better view. “Looks like their boss, maybe? Maybe a little over six feet tall… I haven’t seen him before.”

They watched in silence as the three men spoke. There was no way they could hear what they were saying or lip-read from this distance. 

Jones pulled a digital camera from his lap up to his face, and the shutter of the camera was heard as he aimed it toward the three men. He watched as Thomas shrugged his shoulders and put both palms up.

“He’s making excuses about something,” Jones said. “Whatever it is, boss man there’s pissed about it.”

The silver-haired man pointed at the younger two in quick succession as he leaned forward and spat words at them. Thomas took a step to the side as Nichols stepped forward and puffed his chest out.

“-- straight, I’m not your bitch!” they heard Nichols say. It was the only thing said loud enough they could hear it from down the street. 

The tall man stepped forward and leaned in and put what looked like his finger directly in the younger man’s face until Diana saw a glint in the moonlight.

“That’s a knife,” she said quietly, watching the man trace it along Nichols jawline. “Looks like he’s being put in his place.”

“Compliant or not, this could get ugly quick.”

Back on the sidewalk, Nichols nodded his head, and the knife was removed from the side of his face. The man put it away in a holster beneath his jacket and put an arm around his target's shoulder. Diana could barely make out a smile as the three of them walked away into the darkness.

“Just looking at that guy makes me want to take a shower,” Jones said as he sat back up in his seat. “All right, you definitely got something here. We need to tell--”

“You know you can’t talk to anyone else about this, right?” Diana sat back up in her seat and glanced over at Jones. She cut her hand through the air over the center console. “This is off the books. I mean it. We don’t know who they are. More importantly, they’re not who Bancroft said they are. I don’t know if he knows that, but I’m not taking this to him until I’m sure he’s not in on it.”

“I’m up for off the book work if it catches some bad guys,” Jones said, grinning. “Especially if they’re pretending to be us. Shit pisses me off.”

“At least with Fowler, we knew who we were dealing with. We knew who he was when he came into the office the very first day. We just didn’t know he was working for Adler. But these two and now this guy shows up?” Diana shook her head. “Whoever they are, they're connected enough that they either fooled Bancroft or he's in on it. Clint, this is deep."

“What about Peter? You really gonna leave him out?”

“For the moment," Diana said. "I'm gonna talk to Neal first."

"You trust him on this?" 

"He said he went behind Peter's back telling me anything because Peter didn't want anyone involved," Diana replied. "He wanted help watching them because they're already standoffish against him, and he didn’t think he could catch them. Looks like he was right."

“All right, but I want full disclosure on this, too,” Jones said, holding a finger up. “You guys have done plenty of stuff without me in the past, but not this one. I won't tell Peter yet, but I have to know whatever you know as soon as you know it. Deal?”

“Look… you’ve been left out of the loop on things in the past to protect you, not us,” Diana replied. “So that you’d have deniability if we ever got in trouble. If you want in on whatever this is, that goes away. You’re in just as deep as me, Peter, and Neal this time. When we switched out the music box for a fake one before it got to evidence to keep it out of the wrong hands, that was illegal. You really willing to go there if it comes down to it?”

“I just saw some shady shit with my own two eyes from people claiming to be FBI that aren't, and my boss' boss may be in on it,” Jones said. "I'm in this, for better or worse."

“You’re gonna say you’re all in now right after you just said how toxic being involved with Neal can be?”

“Do you think this thing stems from Neal or do you think it’s coming from somewhere else?” Jones asked. “Because I don’t think Neal has enough pull to get fake agents into our division, especially past Bancroft and Peter, and even if he did, he wouldn’t purposefully make you suspicious of them. Like I said, I don’t really think Neal’s bad, he’s just… someone you hope straightens up before it’s too late.”

“I definitely think Neal’s not the source of this trouble this time, but I don’t know who is,” Diana said. 

"You know what I found odd today?" Jones asked. "Peter asked to borrow my car for him and Caffrey to go to lunch."

"Why?"

"He said he had to have his towed to the shop," Jones said. "I didn't think about it much at the time. If Caffrey had asked, I would have paid more attention. But, it's Peter, y'know?" 

"I’ll talk to Neal tomorrow and let him know what we know," Diana said. "And in return, I'll get him to tell me what he can about why they used your car today. It can wait until morning.”

###

_ I gotta ask you something, Caffrey.  _

Neal jolted out of his sleep with a gasp and sat straight up into the darkness. His chest heaved in and out with each breath as he wiped the layer of sweat from his forehead. 

His cerulean blue eyes darted around the room, looking for the long-gone man who had spoken his name.

Comforted that he wasn't there this time, Neal threw the sweat-soaked sheet and blanket off of him. This bed was ruined for the night, just like it had been so many other nights recently. 

He stood up and walked through the darkness to the sofa. The cushions were easily picked up and tossed to the floor. The pull-out bed sprang forth with a hefty tug on the handle; the mattress was already covered with a clean sheet. 

The story about the pull-out sofa that he had told Peter hadn't been a lie; it was Mozzie's idea to get one so he could sleep over without killing his back. But it had the added benefit of giving Neal a suitable alternate sleeping arrangement on bad nights. He had tried simply changing his bedding completely, but ultimately he decided it was too much of a hassle to strip the bed of sweat-soaked sheets and remake it in the middle of the night.

His breathing steadied as he set it up with a blanket and pillow from the chaise lounge to the right. It wasn’t pretty, but it was comfortable enough to sleep in. He sat down on the edge of the sofa bed facing the dining area and put his head in his hands. 

There probably wouldn’t be any more sleep tonight, anyway. 

This was one of those nights when he needed something more to put him back to rest, but he could get a call from Peter about his orders at any time. He wouldn’t be drunk or hungover when he got that call, no matter how many hours of sleep it cost him. He could run on empty if he had to, but he wouldn’t be inebriated when that call came in. 

There wasn’t going to be a valid reason to leave him behind. There were plenty of incidents in the past where he had earned being left behind because he didn’t do what he was told to do or didn’t stay where he was told to stay. But that wasn’t going to be this time. 

_ Why’d you choose where you live? _

Neal snapped his head up at the words and whipped around, his eyes tracing every corner of the apartment looking for the man again. He set his jaw and clenched his fists in his lap.

“It's in my radius!” he said into the moonlit room, then stuck his foot out and glanced down at the little green light on his anklet. “And I can’t just leave.”

_ We both know you can ditch that anklet any time, if you really wanted to. _

“I already told you I don’t want to."

_ You wanna get a drink? _

“Not tonight… Peter doesn’t know it yet, but he’s counting on me,” Neal said, turning his gaze toward the skylight. “And I won’t fuck it up this time. Not for you, not for Moz… not for anybody.”

_ Right, next time. _

“There is no next time! You're dead! ” 

The words echoed back through the moonlight, and they cut straight through him. He took a breath and glared back across the empty dining table toward the fireplace.

“And that’s not my fault, Siegel!”

The echo came back at him again just as hard as the first. 

He pushed himself up from the bed and went to the kitchen. He pulled a half-empty bottle of merlot from the refrigerator and filled a glass, leaving the bottle on the counter as he walked to the patio doors. 

He opened them and stepped out into the winter night under a starless sky, flurries flying around in the wind. He leaned on the door frame with an arm crossed over his chest, wine glass in the other. 

_ You sure? _

Neal’s arm jerked, and before he could stop it, his feet had been spattered red with wine and shards of glass. 

He remained still as he looked back up and searched the sky for the answer he wanted, but it slipped away with the wind.


End file.
